A Beer
by Emma15
Summary: AU. Sequal to Area Codes. Dean doubles back and Sam wonders if just maybe he couldn't have the best of both worlds. [Rating due to language]
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I do not own "Supernatural" or any of its characters.

**Author's Note**: Okay. So apparently I have no will power. The chanting of _I will not start another story, I will not start another story _did not work and I have (obviously) started another story.

It is utterly AU now; as I will give in to the muse that will **not leave me alone** and merge CollegeSam with Dean. Just to see what happens... hee.

This follows "Area Codes" but I don't think its necessary to read that one to understand this one (although reading it and reviewing it would make me _very _happy :-))

Jess is featured in the story and a few OC's (the same as in "Area Codes") but the story is solely about the brothers and their relationship, everything else is just background. So don't stress! ;-)

I'm planning a four chapter story.

I hope you enjoy!

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It was the sensation of being stared at—that's what woke him. The fact that he woke up slowly and not with the instinctual alertness his father had ingrained in him, gave him a deep seeded satisfaction and an innate shamefulness that he told himself he had no reason to feel.

He blinked slowly as his eyes adjusting to the gentle sunlight that streamed into the room. Jess was sitting Indian-style on her side of the bed, still in her pajamas, her blonde hair streaming in front of her, a contemplative look in her blue eyes as she gazed him.

"Jess?" he said hoarsely, sitting up and rubbing a hand over his face, "What's wrong? You okay?"

She shook her head, the streams of blonde hair rippling downwards, "No."

His heart hammered and the world spun; instantly, he was _awake,_ "What is it? What happened?" he asked, his voice sharp and concerned, his eyes raking her seated form, his head swinging around to study the room.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

"It took me nearly three weeks." She whispered, her gaze still fastened steadily on him, _studying _him.

Sam swallowed hard, _nothing out of the ordinary_, he repeated to himself; releasing a slow breath. Nothing to fight, nothing to kill, nothing on fire…

"Three weeks to what?" he asked slowly, feeling the world shift back into place.

"Everyone's been asking me… _what's wrong with Sam? Is he okay? Did something happen?"_

Sam frowned, "Jess…" he began, but she cut him, her voice still soft and almost absent.

"I kept going over it and over it in my head… what could have happened? Why's he so absent? So apathetic?"

"I'm not—"

"You **are,**" she cut him off, her eyes focusing sharply on him for a moment, then becoming thoughtful again, "You stare off into space when there's conversation going on around you, you sit in silence for hours, you haven't met the guys for a game in two weeks…"

Sam sighed roughly, running a hand over his face again, leaning back against the headboard, "I'm stressed a little, so what? There's a lot going on…" he explained, but even he heard the suddenly defensive tone of his voice.

"It's not the first time you get into this kind of mood… it happens once in a while… I learned to accept it, to deal with it. We all have our quirks… but this one… this one has lasted for so long…"

"Jess—"

Again she cut him off, "Two hours," she stated, still very calmly, "…you stared at that cell phone… as if you expected it to **do **something and when it **did**, when it **rung**, like cell phones are supposed to do, you jumped out of your skin… I _saw _you." She added, when he opened his mouth.

Sam scowled, "You were supposed to be studying…" he told her, knowing it was nonsensical, but not knowing what else to say; not knowing where this was going.

She ignored him, continuing as if he hadn't spoken, "It's like there's an ongoing conversation in your head that you refuse to share… and for the life of me I couldn't figure out _what it was. _Or even _why…" _

Sam drew in a long breath, leaned his head back and closed his eyes, "It's too early for this Jess… and it's Saturday… and I'm fine, nothing is going on… and just for emphasis I repeat: it's too early for this—"

"—it's Dean." She whispered softly.

Her words had the impact of wrecking ball, Sam's eyes shot open and he straightened abruptly on the bed, "What?" he croaked out, his voice a bit high pitched.

Her gaze was no longer thoughtful, but direct and meeting his dark eyes head on.

"The night of the dinner… Doug and Kerrie said they ran into a guy named Dean—like your brother. I didn't make the connection right away," she shrugged carelessly, but her intense eyes belied the gesture, "Why should I, right? You've mentioned you're brother, what? Three_, four _times since I've known you? It's pretty normal that he didn't pop into my head; **but** in my obsessive desire to figure out what the hell is up with you… I've analyzed all the mundane details of our lives lately. And I pinpointed this _funk _of yours to **that** night— that night when you turned three shades of green and _snapped _at Kerrie after they brought up that car; that night when, after they mentioned that guy, you formed maybe four coherent sentences and then retreated to the library to do _research _when no one could really figure out what the hell you could possibly need to research on since classes had already ended; that night when the guys swear you were ignoring them and you stayed behind when they came back to the apartment— after going out and not finding that guy."

Sam's mouth was dry, his heart was beating widely, and he had that sensation of the world spinning again, he opened his mouth, but no words came out… of all the things to deal with without his morning cup of coffee, _Dean _was the worst possible one.

He opened his mouth to try again, but Jess beat him to it.

"What sort of car does your brother drive Sam?" she asked, and for the first time Sam realized that Jessica was _pissed _at him. She had that sort of veiled fury that he'd only seen once since he'd known her and it had **not **been directed at him. In fact he clearly remembered thinking that he **never **wanted to be on the receiving end of _that. _She'd torn into someone for lying to her and done it with such methodical, brutal rage that he'd wondered if there hadn't been more to it...

The answer, when he'd asked, had been, no; she just hated to be lied to.

He swallowed hard again, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, blood rushing in his ears…

"Sam!"

He looked away, not wanting to meet that gaze—angry, demanding, accusing…

"It _was_ him wasn't it?" she asked.

He remained silent. His thoughts whirling as quickly as his heart pounded— it was too early for this, he hadn't had time to raise his guard, to put The Role on…

He needed to reign in his thoughts, to figure out what to say… to explain and know how to answer the questions that were coming… but **dammit**… he couldn't **think **when it came to his brother…

Jess made a hissing sound, "I'm not moving- and neither are you- until you tell me what's going?" she stated, the veil slipping and her anger shining through loud and clear.

He swallowed hard, _what's going on… _okay, that he could do.

He looked over at her, meeting her gaze again, "Nothing." He whispered, surprised at how tight his voice sounded—how sad, how _hurt…_

Jess blinked a little, apparently surprised as well, her gaze softened, "So it _was_ him…?" she asked again.

Sam nodded, looking down, "I think so… unless… there's another Dean with a '67 cherry-black Impala out there…" he whispered, then shrugged, "Which is possible… you never know… it could—"

"It was him." She stated firmly, cutting Sam off. Then she scooted closer to him, "Did you know he was going to be around?"

"I don't exactly keep in touch with my family, Jess. You know that." He said, his voice sounding weary even to his own ears.

She was silent a moment, then reached out and took one of his hands in both of hers, "Before we get married—can we _please _talk about why that is?" she asked, almost pleadingly; with those big blue eyes, no longer angry, just soft and fastened on his face. Her voice earnest and kind and Sam felt his heart turn over with love and shame and frustration…

…because he knows that he won't ever talk to her _about why that is_; not really…

He could tell her— that he and his dad don't see eye to eye, that he and his brother can't find middle ground, that they can't accept what he's chosen— but he couldn't ever _tell _her…

Even if he told her the truth, it would be a lie… and he wouldn't have it any other way.

He squeezed her hand, offering her a small smile, "I've told you—we're not exactly the Brady's…"

But Jess didn't smile back. Not this time. She didn't return the hand squeeze either.

She studied him again, and when she spoke her voice was once again contemplative, "Are you upset that he was here… or are you upset that he was here, but wasn't _here_?" she asked him.

Sam's head swung towards her, his eyes widening again, "I'm not upset." He whispered after several long moments.

"You're _something,_" she whispered back, "…and whatever it is it has to do with this, doesn't it? With your brother being around?"

He could lie to her, he thought suddenly, except that he lied to her so much already… just by _being _he lied to her. It didn't seem fair to _purposefully_ lie to her on top of that…

"I just…" he searched for what he wanted to say, "… I haven't… Dean and I… we haven't…"

The words were halting, his thoughts moving too quickly for him to verbalize…

How was he supposed to explain his relationship with Dean?

The answer was sudden, clear, and painful—he couldn't.

He would never be able to give her a complete picture—because she'd need the truth to see it and he would never give her the truth, he loved her too much for that.

"You two aren't close." she stated, when he trailed off.

"NO!" the word was out with more force than he'd intended, it shocked her, but he couldn't help it.

Instinctively he recoiled at the words; perhaps if he'd had his role firmly in place he would have realized that this was the best impression for her to have, that this was the one that would provoke the least questions, that would lead her to dropping the issue, but the role was _not _firmly in place and allowing her to believe that he and Dean weren't…

… it felt a little too much like betrayal.

"It's not that…" he assured her, more gently.

"So you _are _you close?" she asked, confusion touching her voice. He realized she'd expected him to acknowledge that he and his brother didn't have a close relationship, realized again that he should have let her believe that, realized again—that just the thought, sent shudders of revulsion through him…

If anything, Jess would know this _one_ **truth** about him.

"I love my brother."

She blinked in surprise at him again, opening her mouth to respond, but he interrupted quickly, not finished.

"It's just… _complicated _between us…" he added.

She nodded slowly, then asked softly, "When was last time you talked to him?"

"I don't…" Sam sighed roughly, pulling his hand from hers, running it over his face, "… Jess, this isn't something that I want to talk about…" he told her, but the expression on her face was suddenlyclose to mutinous—too close.

The silence stretched.

She broke it with a question, "What month is it, Sam?" she asked.

He stared at her a long moment before giving in, "June."

"What is the date of our wedding?" she asked.

"October third." He whispered.

"How far away is that?"

"Is this a cross-examination?" he asked.

She arched a golden eyebrow at him and he sighed.

"About four months, I guess." He answered wearily.

"How long have we known each other?"

Sam groaned, "… _Jess…_" he pleaded, when she said nothing, only stared at him he answered, "Three and a half years."

"Okay. Here's what I know about your family." She said, her voicesharp and Sam straightened again at the words. Surprised—again. Wondering where the hell this had all come from and why he hadn't been expecting it.

Jess raised a hand in the air, "One," she said, holding up one finger, "You're mother died before you were a year old. Two," two fingers in the air, "You're father, whose name is John, moved you and your brother, whose name is Dean, around a lot growing up. Three," three fingers in the air, "You and your Dad had a fight before you left for Stanford. Four," four fingers in the air, "You don't keep in touch with him or your brother. Five," five fingers and a glare that intensified its heat, but no words followed. Silence filled their bedroom and finally Sam made a, _what _gesture with his hands.

Her eyes flashed blue fire, "NOTHING. There _is _no five!" she hissed, waving the hand in his face. "Three and a half _years, _a wedding _four _months away and I don't know **_five _**things about your family!"

Sam shrugged, turning away from her and setting his feet on the floor—deciding this conversation was over, "Technically speaking, you know _six_ things—Dad's name is John, brother's name is Dean, those are things." He said simply, tossing the covers aside.

"Sam!"

"It's too early for this, Jess." He grumbled, yet again running a hand over his face. He sighed and turned to look back at her, "We'll talk later, okay?" he said, inserting a note of pleading in his voice.

She met his gaze, then sighed— frustrated, "_Fine." _She growled, her bottom lip sticking out, "But I won't forget. I mean it. We **are **talking about this."

With that pronouncement she whirled away from him and flounced off the bed and out of the bedroom.

Sam watched her leave then turned away from the door; resting his elbows on his knees, he lowered his face into his hands.

He knew she wouldn't forget. He knew that she would now ferret out as much information as possible about his family.

He'd tried so hard to behave normally; to ignore the whisperings of his past, but they'd surfaced with a vehemence that had both surprised him and caught utterly off guard. He wasn't prepared to deal with the memories that had resurfaced—not when he'd spent so much time and energy blocking them out.

His biggest problem, he knew, was time. _Time _had made a difference. He almost wished it hadn't. He almost wished that when he thought back to his family all he remembered was that fight—his father's yelling, Dean's silence; that all he remembered was the pain and the blood and being left alone for days on end in a motel room with a shotgun and the instructions to _shoot first, ask questions later; _that all the remembered was the lying, the moving, the _unfairness…_

But he had no such luck. He remembered other things now too. He remembered smiles and inside jokes, he remembered prank wars and laughter, he remembered the wonder of seeing a new landscape for the first time and he remembered the absolute safety and security of lying in the backseat of the Impala and listening to his Dad and Dean talk about where they were going.

A feeling that had surrounded him so completely and been so much a part of his life that it had taken _time _away, for him to be able to see it.

He could look back and see that although he had questioned everything about their lifestyle, about what they did, and why they couldn't stop it… he had never questioned their love for him— not till _that_ day, of course.

But _time _had matured the furious eighteen-year-old he'd been or maybe it had just mellowed him some, either way... he could see _more _now. He could see the betrayal on their faces—both of them; and he knew it was justified, knew that to Dad and Dean his _announcement _had come out of left field. He hadn't told them _anything. _

When he finally did tell Dad, he'd already had a bus ticket to Palo Alto, a place to live, and a part-time job.

He hadn't wanted to do it that way— but he'd seen no other way.

Even now, he saw no other way.

Dad would never have let him go. It wasn't _safe, _he'd claimed;more like he hadn't wanted to lose one of his soldiers, Sam had thought—and **said**, in rather _colorful _English.

With Dad Sam had known – still _knew _– what it was about, where he stood. Dad had told him to stay gone if he was going—and so Sam had.

With Dean, Sam was less sure.

Dean who had been here… two weeks and three days ago…

Dean who had been here and _left _without one word…

For a few days Sam had tried to convince himself that Dean hadn't known he was in Sam's neighborhood, that it had been a coincidence, that if Dean had known he would've stopped by…

But he knew that wasn't true.

As sure as he'd known all those years, that the only way he'd get out was if _tore _himself away, he knew now that Dean had been checking up on him.

How Dean knew where he lived, Sam couldn't even begin to fathom… or rather, he _could _fathom and that always brought a small smile to his lips.

Laws never held a Winchester back.

Dean had known exactly where Sam was and something in the younger man told him it wasn't the first time that the Impala had made the rounds near his apartment.

He'd never given it much thought before— he'd tried to give his family as little thought as possible— but now that he did, it didn't surprise him all that much.

Winchester's weren't really ones to _let go, _either

It was a thought that bothered him intensely— the idea that Dean had been so close and hadn't come to him.

Suddenly, he _missed _his brother.

Missed him with a ferocity that was startling, with something so akin to _yearning _that it had him longing to see an unknown number on his cell phone.

It had him remembering sparring sessions and Saturday-morning-cartoon-fests, it had him remembering a time when his big-brother knew _everything _and could do no wrong…

A time when he couldn't have imagined— even in his most terrifying nightmares— that he could spend _four years _without having a conversation with his brother; without arguing over who got the last pop-tart or who's music was better; or the million other tiny, irrelevant thing that siblings argue over…

It was like he'd torn the scab off a wound that had almost been healed and forgotten—now it was bleeding again and refused to be ignored.

His life was moving rapidly; in the blink of an eye he was out of college and about to embark on this _new _life. A life with Jess…

A life that had no place for the supernatural in it… did that mean it had no place for Dean in it?

The question had been plaguing him. **Dammit** he _wanted _his family at his wedding! He _**wanted** _them to _know, _to care, to come…

But could they do that? Could they come and not bring all that shit with them? Could he have _them_ in his life and not have _that _in his life?

Sam didn't know. He honestly didn't. He'd been turning the questions over and over in his mind, trying to figure it out, to find a way…

He should have realized he was freaking his friends out, that he was pushing Jess away, that she wouldn't stand for that for long. He should have seen the questions, the _intervention, _coming; he should have run interference for it, should have been more careful.

He hadn't.

He sighed roughly, lifting his head. He'd been sitting here a long time—making her wait on him was not going to make it better.

He had to deal with it, with her questions; even as he searched for the answers to his own.

When it came to having Dad and Dean in his life without the supernatural attached— there **was** one thing Sam had figured out in the last couple of weeks— if given the chance, he sure as hell wanted to try.

* * *

Jess was waiting for him when he entered the kitchen in search of coffee. She was still in her pajamas, but had pulled her hair into a pony-tail. She was slicing banana into a bowl of cereal in front of her. She didn't look up when he came in.

Sam went over to the cupboard, got a mug, and went to the coffee maker. He'd decided that the best way to meet this conversation was head-on; to slice into it, cut it off at the bud—take the wind from her sails, so to speak.

Unfortunately, he had yet to figure out how to do that.

So he said nothing.

He poured his coffee, grabbed a bagel from the pantry and sat down at the table, across from her.

The silence stretched—so did his nerves. He was on edge— dammit, it was _Saturday…_

"Okay. Are you ready now?"

Her voice was calm, soft… but Sam heard the edge of steel in it. He bristled, "My family is not a subject I like to discuss," he said, responding automatically to that tone.

She looked up, her gaze meeting his, "Explain that to me." She stated.

"I don't have—"

"Yeah, Sam you do. Because in four months, _your _family becomes _my _family—_our _family and at Thanksgiving I'd like to know what to tell my _mother _when she asks about my in-laws."

The words were hissed and frustrated and Sam suddenly had an insight into where this had come from.

"This is about your sister." He stated, flatly. Jess's sister, Jill, was one of the few people that Sam actually felt _saw _him— and that was in no way a good thing.

Her gaze was always a little too pointed when she looked at him, her questions barely veiled accusations, her attitude almost forced.

They just didn't click.

Jess shrugged, "It's not _about _my sister…" she murmured, "… but she did… she mentioned it—and I happen to agree!" she added quickly, when Sam opened his mouth, "I don't know anything about your past, Sam!"

"There's not much to know—I didn't have that great of a childhood, you know that…" the lie mingled with the truth was more bitter than the coffee he sipped.

Jess nodded, the steel melting away into a familiar _Jess _expression— a mixture of sweetness, intelligence, and just… _warmth, _"I know that… I understand… but Sam… you can trust me with it—with at least a little bit of it. Our past, whether we like it or not, shapes us in some ways—and you are such a great guy that I can't imagine it was all bad…"

Sam blinked then rolled his eyes, "Have you been taping Oprah again?" he asked, wryly.

Jess blinked then rolled her eyes back, "Idiot." She murmured, a smile tugging at her lips as she spooned cereal into her mouth.

Sam grinned at her and bit into this bagel; feeling some of the tension melt away.

They ate in silence for a few minutes and Sam suddenly knew how to take the wind out of her sails.

"Yes." He stated and watched her head lift. She frowned him, arching an eyebrow in question.

"Dean and I were close—before I left for school."

Jess's face cleared and she set the spoon. She seemed to think that over then shrugged, "What happened?"

Sam swallowed hard and gave her the bare bones answer to that question, "I was angry when I left; didn't answer phone calls—he stopped calling. I don't have a number to reach him at."

It was simple really.

_Yeah, sure, **simple, **_a voice mocked—a voice that sounded suspiciously like Dean.

Jess met his gaze again, "Do you think it was a coincidence that he was around?"

"No." Sam answered truthfully.

She nodded, accepting that answer, not asking why. She twirled the remaining cereal around in the bowl. Sam waited.

Her gaze shot up suddenly, surprising him—even though he had been expecting it, "He sounds sweet." She whispered.

He frowned, feeling like he'd skipped a page in a novel, "What?"

She shrugged, her eyes sincere, "Your brother—he sounds sweet… the way… even though you guys… lost touch and all… he still thinks of you and sort of checks up on you, even if it is a little… _odd _that he knows where you live when you haven't **told **him…" she shrugged again, a sheepish look stealing across her face, "It's still sort of sweet…" she finished, frowning a little at Sam's expression, which had become more and more incredulous with each word she'd spoken, "What?" she asked finally.

He was so shocked that for a moment, he was actually _speechless_.

"_Sweet?" _he asked, the word tinged in something like horror.

Then a grin broke across his face— he'd _**pay** _to see Jess tell Dean he was _sweet…_

She frowned, "Yeah."

Sam chuckled a little; "I don't think…" his smile widened, "… _sweet_… is the right word to describe Dean…"

"So describe him to me." She countered and Sam sobered instantly—he'd opened himself up for that one.

When he remained silent, Jess sighed, standing and picking up her nearly empty cereal bowl, "Okay—_fine_… I will let this go…" she murmured, her tone almost petulant, "But you owe me dinner or a puppy or something…" she added, pouting a little.

He looked up at her, and a small smile touched his lips. He stood and in one fluid motion, he pulled her against him and lowered his lips to hers.

The kiss was warm and sweet—familiar; he could get lost in it, and he planned to get lost in one just like it every morning for the rest of his life.

When he pulled back she was smiling, he grinned down at her, "Tell Jill I said to mind her own business." He murmured.

Jess rolled her eyes, "Jilly has _never _minded her own business… she learned to read using my diary." Jess murmured back.

Sam chuckled despite himself, "What're we doin today?" he asked.

Jess pulled away and went to the sink, "I don't know—depends… are you still allotting four hours a day to brooding?"

"I don't brood."

"Puh-leeeease…" she drawled cheekily, "You _totally_ brood…"

"Do **not.** I _ponder…" _he corrected.

She laughed and Sam's world seemed a little brighter. He wasn't for one moment fooled into believing this was the end of the _I-don't-know-anything-about-your-family _conversation

Jess wasn't going to let it go that easily, but for now it was Saturday, the sun was shining, and she was laughing…

For now that was enough.

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**_Please Review!_**

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	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: I do not own "Supernatural" or its characters.

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He wasn't sure why he was here. The place was too clean— the patrons too quiet, too nice; the bartenders too helpful, too chatty.

The stool he was sitting on was too plush and comfortable, the mug in his hand too clean, the counter-top too smooth and polished.

The lighting was too precise—not dark, not well-lit, but carefully _dim. _

The music, he snorted softly to himself in disgust, if he was being charitable— he'd define the "music" playing as _generic _and leave it at that.

The place was nothing like the dark, smoke filled places he'd grown-up frequenting.

It was the kind of place Dean avoided like the plague. But hell, this entire _town _was the kind of place he tried, and usually succeeded, in avoiding.

He was here now though, and the _why _of that still baffled. All logic seemed to have abandoned him recently.

He knew better than this... **dammit**, he was _stronger _than this. Except... that apparently he wasn't… because he was here.

It had started innocently enough. Three weeks ago, a poltergeist in **California**, a soccer game, an incessant voice that hounded him to just be _near _Sammy...

He stared down at the glass of "beer" in front of him as if it would tell him what the hell to do.

_You could stop stalling and just go see him…_

A voice whispered and he lifted the glass to his lips, ignoring it.

He had left.

He'd driven away. He'd driven like the devil was on his tail withthe music blasting and his baby roaring... hell, he'd made it to Nevada before...

... before the door he'd snapped shut on his thoughts swung open and the words swarmed around him with the buzz and relentlessness of angry bees.

_Sam was getting married._

_Sam would belong to another family._

_Sam would **have** his **own** family._

_Sam would be completely unreachable then, completely gone, completely **normal**..._

It had happened again... suddenly he'd been driving in the direction of California-- and **FUCK**, he **hated** fuckin California...

But he hadn't been able to _not_ head back here. It was like a siren call, whirling in his mind, drowning out everything else and all he could do was curse that fuckin couple he'd run into!

After all,who the **hell** was _that_ fuckin friendly to strangers, anyway? Who **talked** to people on the side of the road... after midnight! Who the fuck **told** _strangers_ **_anything_** about their lives?

_Sam._

Sam would, that small voice piped up again. Sam was trusting enough, nice enough, to talk to complete strangers-- he used to do it all the fuckin time. Chit-chat with people... it used to drive their Dad insane, the way Sammy would just slip into conversation with people when they were on lines or waiting for their food to come.

Sammy had been a sweet-tempered puppy when Dad had wanted anattack dog.

It made sense that he had friends who behaved the same way. Dean snorted in disgust, a pile of happy-go-lucky, chit-chatty, fuckin _friendly_ puppy-dogs.

_It's not a crime to be friendly..._

The tiny voice chimed in, a voice that was sounding too damn much like his little brother.

He wasn't actually _near_ Sam at the moment. He was two towns over to be exact. In a wanna-be college town that was almost glossy in its projection of the apple-pie life.

The place nauseated him.

The entire situation was sort of making him sick-- he was almost, but not really stalking his baby brother.

Almost and not really, because he hadn't actually _seen_ Sam, hadn't actually been back to Palo Alto... he'd just sort of hovered near it.

So far he'd hit nearly every town _around_ Stanford and he was beginning to piss himself off.

He wasn't made for this fuckin hesitant shit-- he did what he had to do when he had to do it...

The problem was, he wasn't really sure what it was he had to do. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do... hell, he wasn't even sure what he _wanted_ to do... he really wasn't sure of anything.

Dad hadn't contacted him with a new job, which was good, because his mind wasn't really on the hunt.

Taking a vacation wasn't a bad idea. He had homes he knew he was welcome in, people he knew would be thrilled to see him... but none of them were Sam-- and that had suddenly become important to him.

It had suddenly become an _issue_, because suddenly he realized-- Sam wasn't eighteen anymore. His baby brother was grown-up, his baby brother was living his **life**, his actual grown-up-in-the-real-world life and Dean wasn't a part of it.

Sam didn't want him to be a part of it.

And that _hurt_.

He slammed the glass down on the bar, the urge to **hit** something, to **destroy** something washing over him. He could use a vengeful spirit to salt and burn right now or hell even a really good brawl, he thought, lifting the glass and finishing the beer.

He almost rolled his eyes when the bartender re-filled his glass almost as soon as he'd drained it. Fuck. Good service? What kind of place was this?How the hell was a guy supposed to start an argument in a place like this?

He turned away from the bar to study the bar. The tables were high and round with high-backed stools surrounding them, the booths in the corners and along the walls were plush and wide; the TV's were flat-screen and tuned to football, baseball, or the news, the waitress were tastefully pretty-- everyone was smiling, chatting, drinking, or watching TV... and it was all being done so fuckin _quietly_.

He sighed; maybe he should come back tonight and salt and burn _this _place. He shifted a little to study the other side... three dart board, three foosball tables - what the hell? - and three...

A smile tugged at his lips.

He set the beer down and stood.

... three pool tables— now **that **he could work with...

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**_Please Review!_**

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	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: I do not own "Supernatural"

**Author's Note**: I'm so happy this companion piece was so well received! Thank you for the reviews; I loved every single one of them.

I apologize for the delay. Unfortunately, I knew exactly where I wanted this to go—just not how to get it there; swell, huh? ;-)

The next chapter is nearly finished. I will post it sometime this week. I hope you enjoy!

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"The three of you are aware I'm not getting married for awhile, right?" Sam asked, as he followed his friends down the street. All three looked back at him, but for a moment no one said anything.

Then Jake shot him a grin, "Bachelor parties should never be left for the last minute."

Sam frowned, "But... that's kinda the **point** of them." He offered.

Jake rolled his eyes, slinging an arm around Sam's shoulders, "But if you wait till the last minute—you can only have one…!"

"You're only **supposed** to only have one," Sam countered.

"You seriously only want _one _night of freedom and debauchery?" Jake asked, his eyes widening comically.

"Yeah, a lot debauchery around here…" Doug quipped, looking around the quiet neighborhood.

"Shut-up," Jake hissed.

Mike chuckled, "We're just getting some practice in for the real thing, Sam," he offered, grinning as they crossed the street.

"As the future best man I have to start scoping these things out," he added after a moment.

Jake scowled, "Like hell you are! _I'm _the best man. I've known him the longest!"

"No way! I had that class with him freshman year!"

"Yeah… _second semester _freshman year! I had that poetry class with him first semester!"

Doug nodded, "I remember that! With Tork!"

"Anybody wanna go inside or we gonna discuss this out here?" Sam asked wryly.

"You weren't in that class," Mike stated, opening the door and glaring at Doug.

Doug scowled back, "I remember taking Tork with Sam."

"Dude, you **weren't **in that class."

"You just don't want me to be the competition for you best-man-hood."

"You are **not **competition, is he Sam?"

"Sam never said you were best man." Jake interrupted.

"I was in that class. I remember it had… poetry… or math… it had those _tests _with the _quotes…_"

Sam sighed rolling his eyes as they headed for a booth in the bar, "Tork was math."

Doug frowned, "I distinctly remember _poetry."_

"That was _Tarken." _Sam said as they slid into the booth, "Tarkin taught Poetry and Drama. Tork taught Calculus."

Doug blinked at him, then scowled, "**How** do you remember shit like that?"

_Having the words, **forgetting a detail could get us killed**, emblazed into your soul by the age of twelve, probably helped._

He didn't voice that thought though—probably wouldn't go over too well. Instead he grinned, "I pay attention."

"Can we drink now?" Jake asked, "Because really… it's why I came?"

"Yeah, why did we come out here?" Sam asked looking around, "We have bars in Palo Alto…"

"Because unlike you bums I had to work today and didn't feel like driving to meet you," Mike replied motioning for a waitress, "And this place is new so I wanted to check it out."

"It's not bad," Jake commented.

"Big…" Doug murmured, motioning towards the other side of the room where a large group of people were congregated.

"Kinda, uh… _glossy_, don't ya think?" Sam asked, frowning as he looked around some more.

He received three strange looks for that adjective, but was spared from having to hear anything about it by the waitress.

She smiled at them, with a warmth that was entirely unaffected.

"Busy tonight…" he commented after telling her what he wanted.

She nodded, "Yeah. It **is** Saturday…"

"What's goin on over there…" Jake asked, motioning towards the group of people.

"Impromptu pool tournament or something," she commented shrugging, then smiled again, "There's this guy… he sorta started it and he's just… amazing."

"Amazing, huh?" Jake drawled, "You should see me play, darlin..."

Sam rolled his eyes and chuckled softly when he saw the girl do the same thing, "Go on over and give it a shot." She stated, "He's been cleaning people out for hours now..." she added.

The guys placed their orders; Sam ordered a soda—plain.

Doug scowled, "What the hell?" he asked.

"Maybe you didn't get the _point _of this little excursion—drinking _alcohol."_ Jake replied.

Sam shrugged, eyeing them with innocence, "I have a quiz on Monday."

"It's _Saturday."_ Mike reminded him.

Sam said nothing.

"Will that be all?" the girl asked, drawing their gazes to her as another round of laughter rose from the corner of the bar.

Sam nodded, "Yeah, thanks."

"How long's that been going on?" Doug asked, before she could leave.

She shrugged, "An hour maybe; it started off small. Two guys against one—and the _one _won. So then other people stepped up. They started playing for money—it just sort of escalated." She shrugged, "No one's beat him yet."

Sam watched her go, before turning to Jake, "'_you should see **me **play', _you call that a pick-up line?" he asked sarcastically.

Jake scowled and opened his mouth; Mike beat him to it, "Explains why he's single, don't it?"

"So do his looks," Doug quipped.

Sam sighed softly as the guys then began the usual diatribe of insults that accompanied any of their excursions. The waitress came back and gave them their drinks, people wandered away from the _impromptu pool tournament_, people wandered towards it, the news droned on and Sam wondered why he'd let himself get talked into this.

An image of Jess's pointed blue eyes _suggesting _that he go with the guys tonight flashed in his mind. He'd been reviewing notes when the phone had rung, by the time he'd come out to the living room to see who it was she'd been holding the phone to her ear and nodding almost eagerly.

He should have known that her intervention would extend all day. She **had** dropped the subject of his family all morning, though. Still it had hovered in the air, almost a threat.

He'd caught her staring at him a few times, with that speculative gleam in her eyes, but she'd only grinned when he'd met her gaze and they'd spent the day in what would be considered by most as mundane errands.

He lowered his eyes to his soda, the noise around him fading as he remembered today. Post office, grocery store, dry cleaning-- they were more than _mundane errands _to him; they were a slice of domestic bliss—of "normal" and he relished them as much as others cursed them.

A bitter smirk tugged at his lips and he raised the glass to his mouth, he would never truly be normal, not as long as he _relished _every moment of it he lived.

It had been Jake on the phone. They all wanted to get together tonight, did Sam want to come? Jess had answered for him.

Something he would usually be annoyed about—but when he'd met those blue eyes he'd read his options quite clearly: _either go out with the guys and behave like you usually do or stay home with me and answer my questions, because I'm sick of this **brooding** bullshit_—no contest really.

"Right, Sam?"

He shot his gaze upwards as Jake's sharp voice was accompanied by a light punch in the arm.

He blinked at him, "What?"

"Say no."

"Say yes."

"Dude, trust me—say no."

They were all grinning like idiots. Sam rolled his eyes, "Any of you plannin to grow up anytime soon?" He asked.

"Just 'cause you got yourself shackled doesn't mean the rest of us have to bite that particular _real-world _bullet." Mike drawled.

"I'm tellin Lace you said that," Jake countered.

"Not if you wanna live…" the man growled.

Jake opened his mouth to reply when a round of laughter sounded from the other side of the room.

"Let's go take a look…" Doug murmured, his eyes on the crowd.

"Yeah, let's see you put those _amazing _skills to work," Mike taunted at Jake.

Doug threw his head back and laughed as he slid out of the booth, "Let's see you beat _Sam."_

Sam groaned, "I am not playing." He stated firmly.

No way was he playing pool on a day when his family weighed so heavily on his mind—on a day when Jess had called Dean, _sweet._

It was like taunting fate or something…

"Aw Sam, come on… don't you want to test Jake's _amazing _pool-playing skills?" Mike continued.

Doug laughed, rolling his eyes, as they slowly made there way past other customers and towards the crowd, "You've played pool, what? _Seven_ times, your entire life?" he asked Jake.

Jake scowled, "I can kick all your asses!"

"Sam can beat your ass with one hand." Mike drawled, "You know it!"

"I'm not playing…" Sam repeated, bringing his glass up to his lips.

"Come on Sam, show'm up," Doug encouraged.

"Dude, its not my fault pool is the _only _hobby, Sam has," Jake griped.

Sam scowled opening his mouth to dispute that.

"Naw, he has Jess too." Mike added, before Sam could speak. Sam transferred his scowl to the other man.

"Jess isn't his hobby; she's his one true _wuv_," Doug remarked, grinning.

"Don't be jealous 'cause Kerrie refuses to commit," Sam taunted, causing the other man to scowl.

"She's committed." Doug hissed.

"That's not what the waiter at that cafe she and Jess go to thinks," Sam added.

"Do you want another beer?" Jake asked the still scowling man, slinging an arm around Doug's shoulders, "To drown the sorrows of the played in?"

The teasing continued for a few more minutes. They stopped at the counter and ordered another round of drinks. Again Sam ordered soda. Again the guys stared at him like he was an alien.

He shrugged, smiling as he brought the glass to his lips. Getting drunk on a day when Dad and Dean had been haunting his thoughts was not a good idea. He couldn't afford for anything to slip.

The intension was still to head over to the pool tables, but by unspoken agreement they'd decided to wait till the crowd thinned a little.

It didn't happen till a little past midnight. The ring of people thinned so that occasionally you caught glimpses of the pool tables, of cue sticks, of racks…

Doug was the first to stand, he was eager to take a look. Competitions of any kind were always of interest to him. The others followed. Sam hung back a moment.

Honestly, he was pretty much ready to call it a night. Hell, he was ready to call it a day. It had been an unusually _long _day. The conversation with Jess this morning, although lasting less than an hour, had occupied his mind all day.

And watching a bunch of buzzed twenty-something-year-olds "playing" pool wasn't high on his list of priorities. Pool, like poker, was just something too closely intertwined with memories of his family.

He'd known how to play both by the time he was seven. He'd known how to _hustle _with both by the time he was eleven. Of course no one knew that. If he'd had his way no one would know he could even play pool.

But he'd been in a _mood_ one day and had wandered into one of the rec centers on campus. It had stood there, silent and gleaming-- the billards table-- and he hadn't been able to stop himself. He'd racked them and he'd played. By himself—for hours.

It was funny; but somehow it had made him feel better. He told himself it was the familiar sounds of it and the concentration it required of him that had done it, that had relaxed him— inside, he knew though,that it had been something else.

It had been the memory of Dean's voice coaching him through the steps, the tricks, the moves that had relaxed him.

Their Dad had taught Dean to play and Dean had taught Sam.

It was that simple.

When he played pool he felt like Dean was _there _with him. He could _hear_ him there… and whether he liked to admit it or not—that was surprisingly important to him, surprisingly _necessary _to him.

It had happened unexpectedly; Jess and a few others had trailed him, found him… watched him as he made nearly every shot.

He hadn't noticed them until it was too late. He should have, of course. His training should have told him when they were approaching—but he'd been concentrating on the game, on the memories of an eleven year old boy carefully coaching his eight-year-old brother on how to play eight-ball, on the smiles and laughter that particular lesson had encouraged in them both.

By the time he'd felt the weight of their glances a small crowd had gathered, watching him.

His "secret" was out and even Jess and been surprised that he could play like that. No one had let him forget it since; even though he'd made sure to never get caught playing again.

Pool had never really been a game to him—at least not once he'd actually learned it.

Learning had been a game. Dean had made it one; but then Dad had stepped in— and for Dad pool was a survival skill, not a game.

"You coming? Or has all that soda gone to your head?" Jake asked, wryly.

Sam blinked, pulled out of his thoughts, shaking them away; he grinned, "I'm coming. I want to see you use those skill… I bet that waitress does to…"

Jake rolled his eyes, "Okay, so maybe I spoke a bit hastily—"

"A bit?" Mike drawled, from Sam's other side, bringing a beer bottle to his lips, "Dude—you _lied. _You **suck **at pool."

Doug joinedthe thin crowd still watching the game, peering over them. The others approached him from behind, still grinning.

Sam admitted to himself that it was good to be out with his friends; to banish thoughts of the past away and have their teasing to ensure the thoughts stayed at bay.

Doug swerved around to face them abruptly, a grin splitting his face, "Well I'll be damned," he announced, almost jovially. Before turning back and shoving his way past the crowd.

The three blinked at his back. Jake let out a chuckle, "Uh… _okay…"_ he drawled, "And you guys think _I'm _the weird one…"

Sam laughed, shaking his head and bringing his glass up to his lips, "The entire lot of you are weird." He commented, following in Doug's path.

"I resent that." Mike responded, walking next to him, "I'm a pretty normal guy…"

"I don't resent it." Jake offered, grinning, "… normal's highly overrated."

Sam rolled his eyes; grinning as he ignored the irony of his friends' words. He turned to scan the crowd for Doug.

His friend was standing on the far side of the pool table directly across from Sam. Doug was talking, smiling, his eyes fastened on the man standing next to him.

A man whose gaze was fastened on Sam.

Sam's smile froze in place, his body froze in place; hell, his _breath_ froze as his gaze collided with a pair of hazel eyes he'd once known as well as his own.

The world spun away from him, fading into the background; voices hummed indistinguishably, the glass slipped from his fingers as every molecule in his body suddenly buzzed with one thought, one word: _Dean._

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It had been easy. _Much _too easy; his father would have told him to cut out hours ago, that he was wasting his energy, time, and talent on clueless yuppies.

But his father wasn't here and Dean was bored. Boredom led to thoughts… thoughts he didn't want to have. So he had stayed and he had played. At first it had been for himself— just to pass the time, but people had started to gather,to challenge him— he was never one to pass up a challenge.

The entire thing had turned into a show of sorts, the attention bothered him; the cash he was winning not so much. Cash was always good. _Candy from a baby_, had come to mind more than once. He wasn't even exerting himself. Still, he wasn't comfortable with being under so much scrutiny.

Although he sincerely doubted he had anything to concern himself over _here_. For christsake, they'd switched the "music" to something like emo rock hours ago… it was all he could do not to take a cue stick to their sound system.

He sighed softly, smirking as his latest "opponent" handed over forty bucks.

He was tempted to murmur _good game _or something—but it just _hadn't _been, so he didn't. Instead he tucked the money away with the rest he had earned and grinned. The crowd had thinned—a blessing he supposed.

"It's been fun," he lied to the people watching, "But I'm callin it a night."

"You ever thought of playin pro?" Someone asked, others nodded in agreement, looking at him inquiringly.

Dean contained the urge to roll his eyes, barely. He answered the question somewhat politely, setting the cue stick down, reaching for his jacket.

He needed to get back on the road…

"I'll be damned!"

The good-humored voice seemed to ricochet off the walls and into his gut—he _knew _that voice; his shot upwards just as a familiar looking man reached him.

"… what are the chances," the man continued, "... of us runnin into each other again!"

Dean stared at him a moment, a chill sweeping over his body, as he put a name to the face… as he put a _place _with the name and face.

_Doug._

_Sam's friend._

"Pretty good, apparently," He muttered, doing his best to pull up a smile.

"And in two different towns!" Doug continued, grinning, "Dude, you disappeared on us! Not that I can blame you or anything…"

Dean blinked a little, then almost groaned; what was it with this guy and **talking… **

"… Ker and I did take forever I know," the other man continued, and looked like he was _going _to continue, and Dean just could **not **deal with that, right now.

"Listen," he interrupted, flashing a grin, "Uh, Doug, right?" At the other man's nod, Dean continued, "I was just heading out, but it was uh, good runnin into ya again…" he commented.

When Doug opened his mouth to speak, Dean cut him off, still smiling, "Don't worry 'bout the other night—everything turned out fine." He told himself to stop there, to get away; but just like the other night, his mouth wasn't listening, "… you had a good time? With your friends?"

The words sounded ridiculous to him. Why should he care? He **didn't **care… except that he… sort of **did**... because— _Sam_ was one of Doug's friends…

Doug nodded, "Yeah, we had a good time… hey!" he said, grinning, motioning with his hand across the pool table towards the edge of the crowd, "—come have a drink with us…"

Dean's gaze followed the motion, followed it to the edge of the crowd, followed it to where three young men stood—talking, laughing…

A deep, cold dread unfurled itself from the pit of his stomach and his eyes widened as he found himself staring across at his little brother…

Sam was standing there— a glass in his hand, a smile on his face and Dean felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him— _he looked so happy, so free…_

The world faded away, voices blurred together as he watched Sam turn and scan the crowd—as Sam's gazecollided with his…

Time seemd to stop and Dean watched as Sam's eyes widenedthe same wayhis had moments earlier, watched as recognition slammed into the younger man leaving him as pale and shaken as it had left Dean.

The shattering of glass is what re-started time. He jumped, startled; he saw Sam jump, startled.

Suddenly the world around sped up— the voices, colors, noises of the bar intruded upon the cocoon that had temporarily enveloped them both.

People backed away shooting odd glances at Sam, his friends frowned at him, clasping hands on his shoulders—asking if he was alright. Waitresses hurried forward to clean up the mess. Vaguely Dean acknowledged that Doug had moved away from him.

It was Sam who tore his gaze away first; and when he did Dean felt a whoosh of air leave his lungs, the world spun, and stumbled back a little. His thought buzzed suddenly and his instinct to _run _flared.

He shouldn't be here. Sam didn't want him here. He shouldn't be here…

The world continued to spin and it occurred to him suddenly that _breathing _might help with that.

Slowly, he drew in a deep breath and exhaled carefully; **forcing **himself to **calm down.**

The swell of emotion rising up in him made that a lot easier said than done though.

_Sammy is here._

His mind screamed, his thoughts whirled uncontrollably… memories unbidden rising up in him…

_Sammy is here…_

The words fluttered through his mind again and he nearly growled; **no, **he thought suddenly, **Sammy didn't exist.**

Not anymore.

Inhaling and exhaling yet another slow breath, Dean used the memory of the words hurled around _that_ night, the image of his brother walking out the door, to squelch the tide of emotions.

He used the memory of those dark eyes filled with fury and disgust and the two years of unanswered phone calls to silence the whispers of _Sammy is here._

Sammy didn't exist.

So when Doug ambled over to him again and drew him towards the group of three for an introduction—Dean was able to pull up a smile and shake hands with Jake Hurst, Mike Matthews, and... Sam Winchester.

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_**Please Review!**_

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	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: "Supernatural" is not mine.

**Author's Note**: Thank you for all the reviews.

Hee. Okay, so remember that _I'm-planning-a-four-chapter_-_story _clause in chapter one? Yeah, go ahead and disregard—its looking more like six. ;)

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It wasn't possible. It couldn't be. It just wasn't fuckin possible. Sam stared at Doug's back as the man returned to Dean—he'd just informed them gleefully that this was the guy with _the car._

"Sam? Dude? What the hell?"

Jake shaking his shoulder did little to shake off the mantle of shock that had descended over him. It did _nothing _to shake off the numbness that was washing over him.

_Dean is here…_

He wasn't looking at Dean anymore, though—had torn his gaze away. He could feel it though—Dean's gaze… could feel it when the gaze fell away.

"Sam!" Mike's sharp voice, registered with him—barely.

He blinked; both his friends were staring at him with bewildered expressions, "You okay? You look like you just saw a ghost?"

He jumped, startled beyond words at the mention of _ghost _while _Dean _was in the room.

"Sam!"

"I'm fi-fine…" he muttered, his voice wooden, his heart thumping wildly.

He wasn't fine.

_Dean is here…_

"He can't be drunk…" he heard Mike say, "All he's had is soda…"

"Are you gonna hurl?" he heard Jake ask him anyway.

The world was spinning and it occurred to Sam that breathing might be help with that.

Slowly he took a deep breath and shook his head; forcing himself to **calm down.**

"No. No." he said, swallowing hard, trying to control the surge of emotions that was welling up inside. "I'm fine." He repeated no less woodenly.

"Yeah, uh-huh… _sure_. You look like your gonna pass out or something. Let's go sit back down—cause your ass is heavy to haul around." Jake grumbled.

"Hold-up," Mike stated, "Doug wants us to meet this remember…"

Jake rolled his eyes, "You only care 'cause he just told us it's the car guy…"

Mike stared at him, "Well, yeah." He deadpanned.

Sam felt a flare of panic when he looked up to see Doug and Dean heading toward them. The flare froze though, when he met his brother's gaze.

Dean's eyes were shuttered, closed-off… cold. He was looking at him like—like he'd never seen him before… as if they were strangers.

Tears stung his eyes suddenly, the words echoing in his mind— as if they were strangers…

"These are friends of mine," Doug was saying, "Jake Hurst, Mike Matthews and Sam Winchester… it was Sam's party that night."

His brother held out his hand towards—to shake. The way he'd shaken hands with Jake and Mike…

For a moment Sam stared at the extended hand, his breath hitching in something very close to a sob, but he clamped down on it with the efficiency of the hunter their father had trained.

He reached out and shook Dean's hand.

The contact stung and he went to pull back instantly, but Dean's grip tightened a fraction, "Ah…" he said, meeting Sam's gaze with an unreadable look, "The golden boy…" he murmured.

Doug laughed as Dean released him.

Sam stared at Dean.

"Kerrie called you that the night of the party—golden boy." Doug explained.

And Sam realized for the first time that Dean had _known _Doug and Kerrie were his friends.

The stinging behind his eyes intensified.

"Let's take a seat," Mike drawled, "You'll join us of course," he said to Dean.

"Of course," Dean responded.

Sam thought he might have heard a trace of mockery in his brother's voice—but he wasn't sure.

There was a time when he'd known every nuance of Dean's voice.

Sam hung back a moment as they headed towards the booth. Shaking his head—this couldn't be happening.

This couldn't be happening.

Dean could not be chatting with his friends—he could not be sitting there with them, he could not be looking at him like that— like he'd never seen him…

They couldn't be playing this game… it was ridiculous.

They couldn't sit together and talk and not… not be… not be _brothers. _

But apparently they _could,_ because that's exactly what was happening. For the past twenty-two minutes he had listened as his friends and Dean talked about pool—its techniques and strategies.

He had sat here… trying to shake off that numbness, unable to get his thoughts to function properly. Vaguely, he noticed, that Dean basically recited everything you could find in a manual and none of the special Winchester techniques and strategies that made up _his _pool game.

Still the pool conversation was better than the direction they were currently heading in.

"We were just kinda scoping the area out," Mike responded; to a question that Sam apparently hadn't heard. It wasn't surprising, really; Sam was having a hard time hearing anything.

He felt like he was watching a dream sequence—

Thoughts, memories, words all slipping through his mind like sand through open fingers. He couldn't seem to hold onto single one…

The only thing he could focus on, the only thing he _knew _was Dean's voice. Dean who was sitting across from him to the left.

His brother's voice had changed—it was deeper, rougher. But then again—Dean himself was _rougher _somehow. There was an edge to him that hadn't been there when Sam had left.

And it added even more foreignness to this entire scene.

"Bachelor party arena's…" Jake's thumping him on the back, brought Sam's attention back to the present, "Sam's getting married in October." His friend announced and Sam felt his heart lurch.

**Fuck**. That was something _he _would have liked to have told Dean.

Dean's gaze was on him instantly; he could feel the heat of it. Numbly, he wondered if it was normal to _feel _his brother's gaze.

"Really?" Dean drawled, again in a tone Sam had no hope of deciphering.

He didn't say anything, didn't even nod. He just met Dean's gaze, asking for something he couldn't name, receiving an answer he couldn't understand.

"Congratulations are in order then," his brother added, tilting his beer towards Sam.

"Dude," Mike whispered, elbowing him in the ribs lightly.

"But I don't think Sam likes it here," Jake stated, picking up the train of conversation, and shooting Sam a reproaching look.

It registered in his still stunned mind that his friends thought he was being _rude_ to Dean.

That was almost funny.

"What is it you said?" Jake continued, "That it was _glossy?" _

Dean choked on his beer, his fourth beer—courtesy of Mike, and arched an eyebrow at Sam.

It was the first _real _expression Sam had seen on his brother's face and it produced in him a _real _response, "Isn't it?" he asked, meeting Dean's gaze, latching on to the spark of something **familiar **he'd seen, "The counters are practically _waxed." _He pointed out.

"... the service is _friendly…"_

"... the floor's _linoleum…" _

"... the floor's _clean…" _

"Are we missing something here?" Doug asked, looking from one to the other.

And just like that— it was over; the moment gone. A shutter slammed shut over Dean's face and Sam nearly recoiled at the abruptness of it.

The table was silent, then Mike broached the topic that was behind his offerings of beer.

The Impala.

"Doug tells me you have a pretty sweet ride?" He stated.

Dean pulled his gaze away from Sam and fastened it on Mike; the he smirked, not saying anything— the shutters firmly in place.

"I have an interest in cars myself…" Mike continued and Sam nearly rolled his eyes.

He was going about it all wrong—too formal. Dean was probably itching to get away—

… _to get away…_

The words swirled in Sam's mind.

Is that what this was leading to? Where this going? Was he going to let Dean get up and just… _leave?_ As if they'd just met? As if they weren't anything to each other?

The thought made him nauseous…

Laughter around him brought him back to the present. Dean was taking another drink, his smirk firmly in place. Jake and Doug were chuckling; Mike looked a little put out.

"You're the future lawyer here, Sam," Mike drawled after a moment, "Persuade Dean to let me take his car for a harmless spin; if I like it I might even make him an offer for it…"

Sam blinked uncomprehendingly at his friend for a moment— _what? _

Persuade _**Dean** _to do **_what?_**

To let someone else drive his car?

Was he insane?

His gaze shot to his brother.

Dean was watching him closely, golden eyes direct and intense.

He leaned back into the seat, a taunting smirk on his face that didn't reach his eyes, "Yeah, Sam," he drawled, in a voice that only Sam recognized the challenge in, "Go ahead… _persuade _me…"

The words echoed in Sam's mind for a moment, before they spontaneously combusted— stealing away the last remnants of numbness he felt.

His dark eyes flashed and he hoped to god that Dean could read the giant _**fuck you** _he was screaming in his head.

His brother wanted to play this game; this _I-don't-know-you-we-just-met _game…?

Fine.

Sam would play.

But it wasn't going to end with Dean leaving.

"What's the harm in letting him take it for a spin?" He stated, just because he knew that Dean hated calling the Impala _it. _

His brother's gaze was steady, "I don't let just anyone drive my car." _You're friend isn't good enough to touch my baby. _

Dean didn't say it, but Sam read it clearly in his gaze.

"I'm sure it's seen worse drivers than Mike here." _Namely Dad._

An eyebrow arched, "Are you?" _How the hell would you know **anything?**_

"It would only be for a little while. Nothing will happen to it." _Don't be an ass. Don't bring **that** up._

"A lot of things can happen in a short space of time." _I haven't forgotten. You left us. Anything could have happened._

Sam swallowed hard, "Sometimes you just have to take a chance." _I **had** to. I had to live for myself._

Dean's hazel eyes flashed, "There are things you just don't risk—not if care." **_You didn't care._**

The accusation stung. Sam swallowed the lump in his throat; he was done with the unspoken words.

"It's just a car…" he stated, his voice deliberately flat, his fists clenching under the table, "It's not like its family."

Only his brother's eyes flinched at the barb, the rest of him remained perfectly impassive.

"Families are overrated," Dean stated, just as flatly, "Cars are much more reliable."

Sam's eyes flashed with anger and with hurt— his mind crying out that he didn't deserve that even as his heart whispered that maybe he did.

Doug cleared his throat suddenly, looking a bit nervous, "I'm sure… that, Mike doesn't need to—"

"Yeah, yeah… it was just a suggestion. I don't have to drive it…" Mike interrupted.

Jake nodded vigorously, "Everybody's particular about stuff like that. It's not like Mike _needs _another car."

"Yeah, Lace certainly wouldn't appreciate it."

"Not like I'd have time to drive it much either."

"Or garage space..."

"Yeah, exactly…"

Sam dimly heard their words, recognized that they had no idea what was going on, that they must be a little freaked out, actually—but he couldn't tear his gaze away from Dean's.

He just… _couldn't. _He had the feeling the moment he did Dean was going to grab his leather jacket and just… walk away.

"I'll play you for it." He heard himself say. Saw Dean's eyes widen, then narrow; felt his friends jump, then stiffen beside him.

"Play _me?" _Dean asked with a touch of arrogance and a helluva lot of incredulity.

"Uh, Sam… when I said persuade… I didn't mean…"

"Yeah." Sam stated, cutting off Mike's words, his gaze still fastened on Dean, "If I win… I get the keys, get to take it for a spin. If _you_ win…" Sam paused, thinking for a moment, then shrugged, "… you choose." It was an old phrase, used between them all the time when they kids— challenging each other.

"Sam, are you… what's going on here?" It was Doug and his voice no longer held the pretense of understanding. He was confused and he was worried and his voice said that loud and clear.

There had too much familiarity in those words, Sam realized suddenly. Hell, the entire conversation had probably set off alarm bells in their minds. There were probably questions running rampant through all of them.

Question he would have to answer.

At the moment, though— he didn't care. At the moment he knew nothing, but Dean.

The older man shrugged, "Deal." _What are you up to?_

"Good." _Come find out._

Truth was Sam had no idea what he was up to. He couldn't beat Dean. He'd never been able to beat Dean. He doubted that he'd be able to now. All he knew was that he didn't want his brother to just—walk away.

_So tell him not to._

He swept the words aside; sliding smoothly out of the booth and heading for the pool tables.

"Have you lost your mind?" Jake demanded of him, grabbing his arm.

"You don't even know this guy!" Mike added, "What the hell kinda terms were those!"

"This is not a good idea, Sam." Doug added quietly.

He pulled his arm free and brushed past them, not responding. He couldn't waste thoughts at the moment. He had to concentrate.

Dean had already taken his jacket off by the time Sam reached the table. He was holding a cue stick, his eyes studying the billiards as if he hadn't played in years instead of an hour ago.

Sam picked up another cue stick.

"Sam!" Doug hissed, "What the hell **is **this?" The voice was pissed off this time.

Turning his head to look over his shoulder, Sam met Doug's gaze, and answered steadily, "Personal."

Then he turned his attention back to Dean who was watching him closely.

"You ready?" he asked his brother.

Dean stared at him for a long moment, before a genuine smile tugged at his lips, "Let's see what ya got…" he murmured, waving a hand towards the table, "You break."

* * *

_**Please Review!**_

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer**: I do not own "Supernatural"

**Author's Note**: Thank you for all the enthusiastic reviews! They made my day:)

The next chapter will the be the last. Oh, and wondered about the title and in case anyone out there is wondering to, I'll share my answer... it's significant in the end. :)

Thank you again and I hope you enjoy!

* * *

There was no way, just _no way, _that his brother could make that shot, Sam thought almost smugly as he studied the angle; watching as Dean studied it as well.

The game had progressed quickly, almost efficiently, and quietly. In fact, to those who had been watching the previous boisterous game this one seemed almost eerily quiet. There was an intensity in the players that did not welcome suggestions or opinions in the way the others had. Instead of drawing the audience in—they shut them out.

No words were spoken. Why bother when an arched eyebrow from Dean clearly conveyed _little rusty there, huh _or _you call **that **a shot; _when he couldn't help look at Dean without conveying _where the hell did you learn **that **_or _how do you **do **that_. Words weren't necessary.

The game had been winding down when a bartender had swung by to inform them they'd be closing in fifteen minutes.

It was Dean's shot. If he made it—he won. If he didn't—Sam won.

He wouldn't make it though. The angle was impossible.

Dean was good, but not _that _good.

No way.

He **couldn't** make that shot, Sam was sure of it, was almost giddy with that knowledge. He would take the keys to the Impala, which unequivocally would have Dean attached to them, and drive home. Dean could bitch all he wanted to, but there wasn't much he could do from the passenger's seat.

It would work. He would win and Dean would be coming home with him.

Because really, there was just, **no way. **

And then Dean looked up at him—as if he'd heard Sam's thoughts—meeting his gaze, and he smirked… before pulling back and aiming for the shot.

And Sam's heart sank, the realization hitting him hard— _yes, _his brother could make that shot; _yes, _his brother was **that **good.

Dean made the shot.

For a moment after—no one moved. The world took on that surreal quality again as Sam watched Dean straighten slowly, set the cue stick down carefully— without a word.

Sam stared; unsure of what was going to happen now. Unsure of he _wanted _to happen now.

Dean's gaze lifted slowly and Sam saw him draw in a deep breath, saw him struggle to pull up a smile. A smile that didn't reach his eyes— Sam had yet to see a smile or a smirk reach his brother's eyes.

"Good game," Dean murmured.

Sam nodded, swallowing hard, his mouth suddenly dry, "You choose…" he reminded him in a hoarse whisper.

Dean nodded slowly, the smile flickering on his face, "Yeah… I choose…" he murmured, his gaze dropping as he carefully picked up his jacket.

Sam's heart pounded, his eyes widening and his body tensing as Dean shrugged into the jacket—getting ready to leave…

_NO! _

His mind cried, but he couldn't move. He couldn't **say **anything… he could only watch.

Watch as his brother lifted hazel eyes to him. Watch as his brother carefully constructed a smirk that was so intentionally aloof it washed Sam in sadness. Watch as Dean studied him, as if drinking him in, as if imprinting his form to memory for life.

"I choose… huh?" his older brother repeated softly.

He met Sam's gaze for a long moment, before shrugging, "… have a good life, Sammy."

The words were soft and warm and they came from his brother; from _Dean. _The one who'd taught him to box and how to unhook a girl's bra with one hand. The one who'd made him grilled cheese and told him bedtime stories. The one who'd played tag with him and let him win at basketball. The one who was currently giving Sam's friends a curt nod and leaving the bar…

_Leaving…_

Sam eyes fastened on that retreating leather jacket even as his friends crowded in around him.

"What **was** that, Sam?"

"Do you know him from somewhere or something?"

"What just happened here?"

"Are you okay?"

"Sam?"

Dimly Sam heard their questions, registered their attitudes, understood their confusion— but really every ounce of his being was now focused on the spot where Dean was no longer standing.

Dean had left.

Dean had been fucking **here **and left. What the fuck was Dean **doing **here anyway!

It wasn't a burst of rage. It didn't wash over him like the last time. It didn't surprise him either. Instead it was a steady, building of cold determination—this was **not **happening.

Dean was **not **leaving.

This was **not **ending here.

"Where the hell are you going!"

"Sam?"

He heard them shout his name as he crossed the length of the bar with long strides and headed for the street.

He ignored them.

He knew they were right behind him—seconds behind him really, but he just **didn't** care.

Dean was already on the opposite side of the sidewalk when Sam exited the bar and the sight of him calmly walking towards the corner set Sam's teeth on edge.

His fists clenched and he stalked into the street, **"So that's it!"** he yelled, "You're just **gonna leave?"**

Dean continued his pace, "That's the plan…" he tossed over his shoulder and this time Sam saw red.

"**GODDAMMIT Dean!" **he roared, stalking into the middle of the street, **"FUCK YOU!" **

_That _made Dean pause; Sam continued, "Where the **FUCK **do you get off!"

His brother turned, rather slowly. His expression set in stone, _"What?"_ he asked, his voice deceptively soft.

"Sam what's going on?" It was Doug. Once again Sam ignored him.

"You _heard_ me." He hissed at his brother, "What the **hell **do you think you're doing?"

Dean's eyes narrowed warningly, "You don't want to do this, Sam." He said steadily, his gaze flickering behind Sam to where the other men were standing.

Sam didn't care.

"Like **hell **I don't." he growled, stalking across the street, "Where the hell do you think you're going!"

Dean's eyes flashed, enough was enough—Sam needed to tone it **down. **"A job, Sam, you remember those don't you?" he snarled.

Sam practically snarled back, "You can't **do **this!" He yelled.

Dean made a frustrated hand movement, "Do **WHAT? **I haven't **DONE **_anything!"_

"You're **LEAVING!"** Sam roared.

That took the wind out Dean's sails. He stared at his little brother a moment, frowning at him, "Well, _yeah."_ He finally muttered.

Sam's breath was coming in small in gasps, his hands were clenched, and his throat burned—Dean's clueless-ness was _not _helping. "You CAN'T," he replied, "You just CAN'T!"

Dean stared at him, saying nothing; just watching him as the moment stretched. They were standing on the same sidewalk now; the street behind, Sam's friends on the opposite sidewalk.

Sam's breathing was getting more erratic as he struggled to maintain control of a rising swell of emotions he couldn't even begin hoping to understand.

With each breath he felt his grip on that control slipping, he was practically hyperventilating and he didn't know _why_.

All he knew was that the Impala was probably around the corner and Dean wanted to get in it and drive away. All he knew was that he hadn't seen his brother in four years and that the prospect of not seeing him for another four was terrifying. All he knew was the overwhelming _feeling _that if Dean got in that car and drove away it would be longer than four years—

"You can't go," he repeated, his voice suddenly hoarse, "You just can't…"

Dean sighed softly, softening at his Sam's vulnerability, "You'll be okay, Sammy," he said almost gently— because he knew what was happening here.

Sam was overwhelmed, emotional, not thinking… he was lost in his _feelings _and at the moment all he wanted was for Dean to stay.

Dean could see that. But the moment would pass and Sam would start thinking again— he would realize that this was not what he wanted, that this caused him problems he didn't need… that this wasn't worth the trouble…

"I have to go." Dean stated, interrupting his own thoughts, "But you'll be okay." He murmured.

He couldn't stop the sad smile that touched his lips, though, because **dammit **this **hurt. **"You were before," he finished quietly, studying his brother for one moment more before turning away again.

Quickly, before he lost his nerve, before he made himself forget, before he let Sammy convince him that it was true, that he really wanted him here— before he stayed…

He'd take only a few steps when Sam spoke again, his voice reminiscent of the young dark-haired boy with big brown eyes that Dean's memory held with such warm affection.

"Do-over." Sam said quietly.

Dean froze; assaulted by the echo those words ignited— a lifetime of Sammy's high-pitched voice squealing for a _do-over; _the roll of dice, the free-throw, the race—all at one point or another subject to a _do-over; _and the older brother who'd fondly indulged them all.

He turned slowly, Sam was closer now, his dark eyes glimmering with unshed tears and **damn; **Dean couldn't take Sam's _tears._

"Bar's closed." Dean replied, surprised at how thick his voice sounded.

"Tomorrow." Sam stated quickly, taking a step closer to Dean.

Dean shook his head, "No." He whispered, swallowing the lump in his throat.

He was the older brother—he knew what was best. It was best for them not to do this. It would be harder on Sam—later, if they did this.

Later when the younger man realized this wasn't what he wanted.

Sam took another step towards his brother, "Dean—"

"You don't want this Sam."

"How would you know—"

"I know what you want." Dean interrupted, _"Normal."_ He said in a pained whispered.

Sam's eyes narrowed suddenly, his gaze somehow darker, "I want my brother." He said steadily.

Dean studied him for a moment; then tilted his head a little to the side, "But not what comes with him." He said carefully, sadly-- resignedly.

It was the truth.

They both knew it.

But Sam couldn't let it end there.

It didn't matter at right now. Right now all that mattered was that Dean didn't leave—they could figure the rest out later, right now… Dean just **couldn't** leave. "Do-over," he repeated.

Dean shook his head slowly, the sad smile back on his face, "Sorry kiddo, not this time." He murmured.

It might have been the sad smile or the gentle voice or the warm eyes or maybe a combination of all three—Sam would never know. All he knew was that suddenly he felt himself _unravel_.

The force of hysteria that rose up in him was nearly staggering. Panic unfurled from his stomach outwards; extending itself towards his toes and heart, reaching out towards his arms and hands…

_Dean was leaving. _

He was really going to _leave._

The tears spilled. "Please... don't…" He whispered, not caring in the least that he sounded suspiciously like the four year old he'd been, who just hadn't wanted to grasp the concept that Dean had to go to school.

Dean took a step back, "Sam, don't," he pleaded, his own voice tinged with a hint of panic. **Dammit, **he **hated** it when Sam cried, "Just **don't**."

"I need you to stay."

"Why?"

"Because… I…" his stopped suddenly—_why? _The answer was so simple, so _basic _it was almost ridiculous; he shrugged a little, "I just… miss you."

Dean blinked—what the hell was he supposed to say to **that?**

"Please," Sam repeated.

Dean swallowed hard, reaching up a hand and running it through his short hair.

Shit.

How was it possible for a twenty-two year old to look so damned much like six year old! Shouldn't Sam have outgrown the damn puppy-dog eyes by now!

"Sam I just—" his voice trailed off, he didn't know what to say here… what to do.

Sam had _missed _him—and that… that **mattered **to him; more than he would ever admit.

Sam had _missed _him.

Sam stepped towards Dean again. "Stay," he said, his voice firmer now that he'd sensed Dean's hesitation. He drew in a shaky breath, "You have to, really…" he added after a moment of silence.

Dean's eyes focused on his pointedly, but he said nothing.

"I'm asking for a do-over." Sam reminded him, "You have to do it… it's what big brother's do."

The breath left Dean in a rush, the words hitting him hard, another echo from the recesses of their childhood—one he couldn't brush away.

Because it was the one thing he just **couldn't** ignore, no matter what.

It was the reason he was in the goddamned mess to begin with—he could never shake being Sam's big brother, it was _part _of him. A part he couldn't run from.

He'd never done it.

He couldn't now.

Hell, maybe he'd never be able to.

"Aw, HELL Sammy," he roared, frustrated, angry—terrified.

Sam was maneuvering him into staying, but Dean knew, he _knew _that Sam would regret this. He knew it because he knew Sam.

He knew that Sam's _self _revolved around an ideal of _normal, _one that he seemed to be successfully accomplishing, and that Dean did not fit into it.

One he didn't **want **to fit into.

Hunting was a part of him as much as being Sam's big brother was… giving one up for the other wasn't something he looked forward to doing—ever. Sam had taken the choice away from him before…

And as much as he loved his little brother, Dean wasn't sure he even wanted that choice back.

Regardless though, Sam was looking at him with those big doe eyes and he knew—he was about to cave. He didn't have to do it gracefully.

A small smile was tugging at Sam's lips, "Is that a yes?" he asked softly, eagerly.

"Are you gonna whine about it for eternity if it isn't?" Dean growled.

The grin that bloomed on Sam's face was so warm and sincere, so _happy _that Dean decided—for now, it was okay to pretend. It was okay to act as if those choices were never going to have to made.

"Yes, it's a yes," he grumbled; then eyed Sam warily, "You aren't going to hug me are you? 'Cause I've had just about all the chick-flick moment I can stomach…"

Sam's grin widened, he **did **want to hug Dean, but it would be much more fun to wait till the older man wasn't expecting it.

"Let's get goin…" he said instead.

Dean arched an eyebrow, "Dude I never said I'd **go **anywhere with you. Oh, and your friend over there's waving his arms and turnin purple—you might want to do somethin 'bout that…"

Sam whirled around, he'd completely forgotten about the guys. They were still standing on the sidewalk outside the bar and Jake was on the phone.

"Shit." He muttered, motioning them over, "I completely forgot."

"Yeah. Sucks, huh. So I'll see ya tomorrow…" Dean murmured.

Sam stopped motioning the guys over and spun around again, an incredulous look on his face, "What?"

Dean sighed, "… all that education impair your hearing or somethin?" he asked.

"You're comin home with me."

Dean's eyebrow's shot to his hairline, "Dude, I'm not stray!"

"Sam?" Mike's voice interrupted Sam just as he was about to respond. Sam scowled at Dean before shifting to his friends.

"Everything okay here?" Doug asked, his voice very careful.

Sam had the grace to look a sheepish as he realized that his friends were rightfully freaked out.

"Yeah, yeah; everything's fine." He glanced quickly at Dean, "This is… I mean Dean… he's… my brother."

All three stared at him for a long moment.

"Your brother?" Doug asked, his gaze shooting quickly to Dean before going back to Sam.

Sam nodded, "My brother."

The silence stretched for several seconds.

"Like brother-brother…?" Jake asked finally, also looking from Sam to Dean and back again.

Sam frowned, "Yeah…"

"No, I mean like **seriously**—_brother-_brother… like not fraternity or something… like _brother…" _

Sam's frown turned into a scowl, "Yeah. Like _brother-_brother… what the hell?" He asked, looking at them all sharply. It wasn't that hard to understand was it?

"It's just…" Mike stuttered, then blinked, "Really?"

Sam rolled his eyes, "Yes. **Really."** He grit out.

"I got all the good-looking genes," Dean offered, when the silence stretched again, _"Obviously." _

"Listen guys… I'll catch ya later, 'kay…" Sam stated, when the three men seemed unable to do anything but stare.

"You sure—"

"That he's my brother?" Sam asked, laughter entering his voice, "Yeah, Mike I'm sure… I'll see ya guy later… come on, Dean. Let's go."

"Dude. You wanted a re-match. I said yes. I'll meet you here tomorrow."

"No. You're coming with me."

"Sam—"

"I'm going to get in the car Dean."

"Sam!"

Sam started walking in the direction Dean had been heading in; its not like it would be hard to spot the Impala.

He heard Dean say something to guys and lengthened his stride so he could get to the car first. He could pick the lock—no problem.

By the time Dean got to where he'd parked the Impala Sam was sliding into the passenger's seat.

Dean was scowling when he bent next to the window, "Sam. Get. Out. Of. My. Car. **Now."**

Sam smiled, "No. And we should go. It's gonna take us 20 minutes to get home."

"Sam—"

"How far's the motel your staying at? Have you even _found _a motel yet? Did I mention that I have a friend whose brother is a police officer around here? How beers have you had tonight Dean? Three? Four?"

Dean stared at him a moment. Then straightened. A moment later he was sliding into the passenger seat.

Without a word he started up the car and began pulling out of the parking spot.

For a moment Sam thought he might have gone too far, after all… just because when Dean grinned at him it felt like nothing had changed, didn't mean that it was true—things **had **changed.

"I'd completely forgotten what a pain in the ass you are."

_Or maybe not…_

He grinned, "I'll be happy to remind you." Sam replied.

Dean rolled his eyes, but didn't reply.

"So," Sam began after a few minutes.

"HERE it comes." Dean grumbled, gunning the engine a little.

"What?"

"If you were about to say anything that could ever be featured on a Lifetime movie—don't."

"Dean—"

"Dude. Be a man. You already cried like a chick tonight. What? They put estrogen in the food at Stanford?"

Sam studied Dean's profile for a moment—he could let this turn into teasing he supposed, except that… he hadn't seen Dean in _four years._

"I graduated." He said instead, his voice softer than he'd meant it to come out.

Dean shot him quick look, then swallowed hard, nodding, "Yeah." He stated, "Congratulations… on the wedding too… I mean that." He added after a moment, shooting Sam another look.

Sam nodded, feeling something ease inside him. It took him a moment to recognize it as relief… he was _relieved _that Dean knew. He'd wanted his brother to know.

The ringing of a cell phone distracted them both.

Dean shrugged, "It's not me. Mine's on vibrate."

Sam fished his out of his pocket and stared at it.

"Well?" Dean asked, when Sam just continued to stare at it and the phone continued to ring.

"It's Jess." Sam stated.

"Jess…?"

"My fiancée."

"uh, okay."

The silence stretched. The phone continued to ring.

"You planning to pick it up anytime soon."

"I'm thinking about it."

The phone continued to ring.

"Sam!" Dean snapped.

"What?" Sam shrugged, "I'm thinking…"

"Doesn't that thing go to voicemail?"

"She hangs up on the third ring and hits redial…"

"Huh. Persistent."

Sam sighed wearily, "Yeah." He stated, as he pressed receive and brought the phone to his ear.

"Hi."

…

"Uh… yeah. Yeah. Jake called you, huh? That was… unnecessary of him."

…

"No."

…

"No."

…

"Yes."

…

"No, no. We're fine. Everything fine."

…

"Uh, back at Mike's I guess…"

…

"No, no… we're on our way now."

"_You're _on your way. _I'm_ just dropping you off." Dean interrupted as Sam listened.

…

"Oh yeah... He's thrilled… can't wait to meet you."

"**Sam."** Dean grit out, his hands clenching on the wheel.

Sam shot him a grin, "He can hardly contain his excitement," Sam added, his grin widening as he nodded at whatever Jess was saying.

"Chocolate chip is fine. Dean loves chocolate chip."

"Dammit. Sam."

Sam covered the mouthpiece and frowned at Dean, his dark eyes twinkling, "Watch the language around the lady—oh and loosen the grip on that wheel, you're liable to break it in half…" He murmured, before turning his attention back to the phone.

"Huh? Oh… hold on?" He glanced at Dean again, blinking innocently at him, "Coffee, hot chocolate, or mocha?" he asked.

"What?" Dean snapped.

"Jess is making us snacks. Do you want coffee, hot chocolate or mocha?"

"I am **not** having a fuckin _snack_ with you, Sam. I'm dropping you off at your doorstep 'cause you fuckin _threatened_ me, but I'm **not** a going up."

Sam frowned at him a moment, then shrugged, "He'll take coffee, Jess." He stated into the mouthpiece, "Make it decaf, though. Oh, and sweet… he likes it sweet."

"_SAM." _

"Yeah. yeah. Another uh… five minutes I guess."

…

"I'm telling you. He's **thrilled** about meeting you." Sam's eyes moved to Dean's profile, "I mean you are marrying his _only_ brother, his _baby _brother in fact; who he hasn't seen in a _very _long time."

Sam chuckled, "Okay, a little, maybe… yeah…" he laughed again, "Okay, I'll tell'm babe. Yeah, me too."

When he'd put the phone away Dean sent him a scorching glance.

Sam met it with a neutral gaze, "Jess said to tell you she's getting the sofa bed ready." He stated, almost happily.

Dean released a ragged sigh, "Sam…"

"Stay with me, Dean." Sam interrupted, his tone suddenly serious. "We have to talk."

"No, we don't—"

"What are you doing here?"

Dean blinked at Sam's abrupt changed in topic, "What?" he asked.

"What are you doing here? A job?"

The older man shot him a look, then shrugged, "Yeah… I guess." He said noncommittally; then brought the Impala to an abrupt halt, "Oh, look no time to chat—you're here."

Sam slid forward on the seat then glared at his brother. "Come. On."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Sam." He said aggravated.

"Dean." Sam repeated in the same tone.

Then he added, "Look, I want you to meet Jess. I'm going to keep bugging you until you do. We may not have been around each for the last four years, but I'm sure if you think back to the eighteen before that you'll remember that I can be pretty tenacious—"

"—pain in the ass, ya mean," Dean muttered, darkly.

"—and eventually you will give in," Sam continued, because he felt confident enough to add that, "It's what always happened... so can't we just skip to the end and go upstairs… 'cause Jess made chocolate chip cookies today and she's re-heating them."

Dean shifted in his seat and pinned his brother with a steady hazel gaze, "I'm not going to change who I am, Sam. Not even for you."

Sam blinked, surprised. The teasing glint leaving his eyes, "I haven't asked you to."

"No. But… if we do _this_— you will… eventually." Dean said, his voice almost gentle again, like he was afraid of hurting Sam, "Think about it for a minute, Sam."

Sam shook his head. "I have thought about it. I **want** _this_… I want you to meet Jess and to be my best-man…" he shrugged, "I want to know where you are… this isn't… _right, _Dean, the way things have been. The way we've been doing this…" he trailed off.

His gaze distant for a moment, "I meant it when I said I missed you… don't you… I mean, haven't you…" he swallowed hard, suddenly unable to form the words.

Dean could only stare at him.

"I have." He whispered into the silence that filled the car. Two words that were as inadequate as a hundred would be to convey the depth of emotion they expressed.

A long moment passed before Dean cleared his throat, and shot Sam a small smirk, "Fine. I'll camp out here for the night… save myself some cash…"

Sam's eyes instantly brightened. It took a few minutes to find parking, but soon they were both inside the building and trudging up the steps towards Sam's apartment.

"Hey, Dean." Sam stated, when he reached the door; keys posed to unlock it.

Dean arched an eyebrow, "Yeah?"

"Don't hit on my fiancée, 'kay."

* * *

_**Please Review!**_

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer**: I do not own. "Supernatural." I also do not own the line, "... she's way out of your league..." that is from the "Pilot" episode of the series.

**Author's Note**: Okay, I'm sorry. I really am. I was trying for one more chapter to this story, just one more. In this misguided effort I kept delaying my posting. I'm sorry for that. I've realized now it's just **not going to working. **The muse refuses to squish everything into a small package.

So I retract all previous chapter estimates and am refusing to put forth a new estimate. ;)

I hope you enjoy.

* * *

"I'll wait here." 

Dean's soft words reverberated in the unusually quiet apartment.

The foyer had been empty, as was the living room they were standing in; a stack of blankets and two pillows lying neatly at the end of the sofa.

Sam whirled around, already frowning, "What?" No." he stated shaking his head, "Come on. She's probably in the kitchen." He offered motioning towards the kitchen door.

Dean too shook his head, setting down his duffel bag, "It's alright. I'll wait here—"

"Dean—"

"Dude, just go get her, will ya. I'll. Wait. Here." He enunciated, "Jeez, do ya gotta bitch about everything?"

Sam's frowned turned into a scowl, "**Fine. **Wait here."

Dean smirked, "Great idea."

It might have been the smirk or the words or it could have simply been that _his brother was here,_ but Sam's irritation faded and a grin spread across his face, "Jerk," he muttered, then he turned and headed out of the room.

Dean watched him go. He waited for the door to swing shut before he slowly let the smile crumble and slid down onto the sofa. He exhaled tiredly before lowering his elbows to his knees and burying his face in his hands.

Christ. What was he **doing **here?

Of all the places to be, all the things to be doing… _this _was not the best option for him.

Sam had walked away. Yes, it had been a long time ago. Yes, his little brother was older now. Yes, people changed— matured, saw things in different ways…

But it didn't change the fact: Sam had walked out.

And Dad has slammed the door shut behind him.

That was a problem.

Him being here, whether he meant it to or not, whether he wanted it to or not—would spark that problem again. He knew it.

Dean sighed again, lifting his head and looking around.

The living room was so "normal" it was almost _quaint_ and it made him want to gag. There were throw pillows and curtains and rugs, there was a television with DVD player and a stereo, there was a china cabinet and hell, there was a _fireplace._ Jeez.

He shook his head, standing and walking around a little. There was actual _china _in the china cabinet. Dishes and cups and saucers… with tiny pink roses on them and…

_... oh god..._

He barely held back a groan when he looked up and realized that the _curtains _had the same tiny pink roses on them.

Obviously, Sam's fiancée had decorated here. He hoped. But than again—with Sam one could never be sure.

The entire room was decorated in pinks and crèmes. **Seriously**— he was going to gag.

He walked over to the fireplace… a light smirk touched his face as he studied it— call the fire department—there's _clutter _here!

There were at least a dozen framed pictures on the mantle of the fireplace. The smirk faded as he studied them, a lump rising in his throat. They were pictures of Sam.

Sam with the guys Dean had met tonight. Sam with a blonde woman. A group of girls at a restaurant with Sam and other guys standing behind them. Sam with an older couple and the same blonde woman as before. Sam in a graduation robe, Sam on a basketball court, Sam on a horse, Sam by a pool…

Grinning in all of them… _happy _in all of them…

It wasn't a surprise. He'd known his brother was happy. He'd _wanted_ his brother to be happy.

Still, he couldn't stop the stab of hurt that rippled through him. It was good that his brother was happy. But, damn, did he have to be _that _happy— without him.

Abruptly, he shifted away a little, running a hand through his hair and telling himself to **chill. **

This was ridiculous.

Of course, Sam had been happy without him. Sam had been free. Normal. So what the hell was Dean **doing **here?

… _I missed you…_

The words were a whisper in his mind and they made him sigh again. Sam had missed him. Sam didn't want the Hunt, but he wanted his brother.

Terrific

This situation was so screwed up. Anyway he played it someone was going to get hurt— 'cause Dad wasn't just going to be pissed when he found out Dean was here, he was going to be _hurt. _

He was going to feel betrayed.

And there was no doubt in Dean's mind that John Winchester would find out that his sons had met up again. No doubt at all.

Dean's eyes shifted to the end of the mantle. These pictures were older. Sam looked more like the teenager who'd left home in them.

He smirked a little and took a few steps to get a closer look at what appeared to be Sam in a _toga…?_

And that's when he saw it; framed on one side by a picture of Sam and the blonde chick—Jess, he assumed, and on the other by a picture of the older couple—Jess' parents, he assumed; was a picture of their Mom and Dad.

He reached a hand to it, touched the glass protecting it— Mom and Dad… one of the few pictures that had survived the fire. One of the few remaining pieces of hard evidence that once, a long time ago, the Winchester's had had throw pillows and china too. Once they'd been normal.

Figured Sam would have it on his mantle—proof for all to see that he was just like them…

He took a step back and stared at the conglomeration of photos on the mantle. Except for the progression of the timeline from one side to another there didn't seem to be any order to them. Serious and silly were placed next to formal and ceremonial, some frames were inexpensive plastic; others polished wood, some were shielded by glass others by plastic. It was a very haphazard display and some how it managed to convey more accurately than everything else he'd seen just how _normal _his brother had become.

The presence of _that_ picture, of their Mom and Dad, surrounded by a sea of other smiling faces **stung** because…

He was fairly certain that everyone in Sam's life was on that mantle— everyone but him, that is.

Dean blinked the sudden burning behind his eyes. What was he **doing **here? He wondered again.

_Sam._

A voice reminded him.

_Sam thinks he wants you here._

Yes, Sam did think that. And Dean would humor him, because that's what Dean did—always. Sam wanted, Dean gave.

Always.

Even when he knew better, even when he had evidence right in front of him that he didn't so much as fit on Sam's _mantle _let alone in the younger man's life—he still gave.

Even when he knew he was just setting himself up to bleed again.

* * *

"Jess?" Sam called out as he entered the bedroom. He'd checked the kitchen and study—no Jess. He was starting to get worried.

"Yeah?" she answered.

And he sighed softly in relief, the tension that had been gathering between his shoulder blades easing.

"We're uh, here…" he muttered as she stepped out of the closet.

"What are you doing?" he asked, there was clothes strewn all over the bed and she had three hangers in her hand.

"I can't figure out what to wear." She stated, looking up at him with solemn blue eyes. "It would've helped if you'd told me _something _about your brother. I mean is he formal wear or casual? Shoes or sandals? Pony-tail or hanging loose?" she listed, "I need to know these things!"

Sam blinked.

She was dressing _for Dean?_

The thought was almost as amusing as her calling him _sweet _this morning— _that _still brought a smile to Sam's face.

Oh, this was going to be so much fun…

"It's not funny, Sam!"

"Jess." He began, reaching out and taking the clothes she had in her hands from her. He set them on the bed and then gently grasped her shoulders, "You do **not **have to worry about clothes."

She gaped at him, "**Of Course. I do." **She hissed, "He's the first person in your family that I'm meeting! I have to make a good impression!"

"You will."

"Yes. In the right outfit." She affirmed, "Let go." She added, wriggling under his grasp.

"Jess—"

"_You _had to get dressed to meet my family."

He blinked again. "Okay, yes… but…"

"But nothing. He's your family and I'm meeting him for the first time and I want it to be **good. **I want him to **like **me."

"He's going to like you."

"Great." She said dismissively, yanking herself away and staring down at the bed, "What do you think he'll like me _most_ in? Which one says _best-sister-in-law-**ever?"**_

Sam stared at her profile. She was serious.

"Jess really, Dean isn't going to care. He's not like that…"

She lifted her gaze from the bed and turned her face towards him, "Neither are my parents." She stated, "Which I told you. Which, if I remember correctly, did **nothing** to stop you from getting all fussy about what color shirt went with what pants or whether or not you should wear a tie and what did _I _do? I _humored_ you. I stood by and helped you meticulously select what you wanted to wear and told you what colors my Mom liked to see on young men and whether or not my Dad cared if you wore a tie. I _humored_ you, Sam. So yes, its perfectly irrational that I want to get dressed at this time of the night or morning or whatever time it is and its perfectly fine that your brother wouldn't care if I met him in pajamas and bunny slippers, but _I _care and as my fiancée all you need to do is _humor _me. **So do it.**" She finished firmly.

He was silent.

A moment later she turned to back to the bed, "I repeat…" she waved a hand over it, "… which one says _best-sister-in-law-**ever?"**_

She was serious.

Sam sighed, "I dunno… something causal, I guess. Sandals, pony-tail— jeez Jess, it's like three-thirty in the morning! He's not gonna care."

She turned back to the bed, "Okay. Casual, sandals, pony-tail. I can do that." She murmured and bent down to retrieve some items off the bed.

He sighed. "Good. Hurry—Dean's not exactly the patient type…"

She paused, then gave him a huge grin, her eyes sparkling as she looked up at him, "I'm ridiculously excited about this." She gushed.

Sam laughed, "Yeah… I kind of am too." He admitted, softly.

* * *

Dean was sitting on the sofa going through his duffel bag when Sam entered the living room.

"Sorry we took so long, man—" the younger man muttered.

Dean looked up and stood quickly, "No problem." He answered, shrugging a little, "You gotta real uh, _cute _place here, Sammy." He added, arching an eyebrow.

Sam rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips— leave it to Dean to make the word "cute" sound like an insult, "It's Sam," he said just to be contrary as he arched his own eyebrow.

"Uh-huh, _sure_. You actually got a fiancée to present or is this like that imaginary friend you had till you were seven?"

"Dude. I did **not **have an imaginary friend!" Sam stated, the familiar argument coming to his lips quickly.

"So you say. So you say. But who's the older brother here?" Dean asked.

"I did not—"

"I am." Dean answered his own question, interrupting Sam with a big smile, "And therefore I know all." He said with finality, then peered over Sam's shoulder, "Is there a girl back there or what?"

Sam sighed, moving to the side and shoved Dean lightly on the shoulder; a small smile touching his lips as he gave Jess a clear view of his brother.

He cleared his throat a little, suddenly nervous—he _really _wanted them to like each other. "Jess, this is my brother, Dean. Dean this is Jessica."

"Nice to meet you…" Dean offered, extending his hand to Jess. Bestowing his grin on her— _that _grin, Sam noticed, almost scowling; but instead of a scowl his smile just seemed to widen.

A smile that faltered when he glanced over at Jess and saw that she wasn't smiling back. She didn't seem like she was about to say anything either. In fact she wasn't even blinking… she was…_staring?_

He blinked again to make sure, but _yes, _she was **staring **at Dean—and not taking his hand. She was running her gaze from the top of his spiky hair, down the leather jacket, gray t-shirt, and faded blue jeans to his scuffed boots… then back up again. Her expression not just surprised, but… _bewildered?_

Sam looked back at Dean; trying to see what she was seeing… but he didn't get it. It was just… _Dean._

Dean's hand dropped abruptly and Sam tensed, but instead of saying anything, his brother threw his head back and laughed.

A deep chuckle that Sam remembered from the _prank wars _of their youth.

"Let me guess…" Dean rumbled, his voice still filled with laughter, "… you were expecting another geek?" he asked.

Sam jerked, a scowl forming in earnest this time, but Jess, he saw— finally blinked. Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

"Sorry, sweetheart, but your boy here…" Dean motioned towards Sam, "Genetic aberration." He explained.

The scowl formed fully, "Dean." Sam hissed.

Dean shrugged, his eyes still on Jess—who was beginning to smile now, "He's one of a kind, ya know?" Dean added, his voice suddenly surprisingly sincere.

Jess's smile bloomed, "I know," she stated, then abruptly her eyes widened and she shook her head a little, "Oh god, I'm sorry…" she stated, extending her hand, "… really, I'm _so_ sorry. Wow… that was… _embarrassing_…" she muttered, blushing a deep red as the realization that she'd just _gaped _at her future brother-in-law dawned.

Dean grinned, taking her hand, and pulling her forward a little, "Don't worry about it, sweetheart." He murmured, grinning down at her, "I have that speechless effect on all women." He offered.

A surprised laugh escaped Jess, her eyes still wide, but now amused and studying Dean intently.

"Dean." Sam growled, looking pointedly at where his brother held Jess's hand.

Dean shrugged, dropping her hand, and blinking at his brother in innocence, "Facts of life, little brother." He murmured, "Don't be jealous."

Sam rolled his eyes, "Glad to see you've humbled in your old age." He teased, smiling.

Dean made a face at him and then looked back to Jess, "I was lured here with the promise of cookies…?"

She jumped a little, "Oh, right. Right. I'm sorry…" she repeated, shaking her head, "I just… you're not exactly what I— _cookies, _**right." **She interrupted herself, blushing again, "Follow me…" she murmured, motioning towards the kitchen door.

The room was silent a moment when she left before Dean turned to Sam, a smirk on his face, "Dude, she's _way_ out of your league…" he stated, as he began to follow her.

Sam rolled his eyes, falling into step beside Dean, "Can you please _attempt _normal behavior?" he asked, sardonically, "She's nervous. Be nice."

The older man frowned, "You told me not to hit on her…"

Sam nodded, "Be _nice." _

Dean's frown intensified, he blinked innocently at his brother, as they entered the kitchen, "But you told me not to hit on her." He repeated— in full hearing of Jess.

Sam glared at him, then cringed a little as Jess turned around and stared at them both, before fastening her gaze on Sam.

For a moment she said nothing, just stared at him, before turning to look at Dean again. She smirked, "You were going to hit on me?" she asked. Dean opened his mouth to respond, but she shook her head suddenly.

"No don't answer that." She interrupted herself.

"Let's just start this whole "intro" thing over…" she suggested hopefully.

Dean shook his head vehemently, eyeing the plate of cookies on the table— a plate edged with pink roses, "No way, sweetheart. I made you speechless. We're sticking with that intro."

"Here," Sam grouched, moving to the table and scooping up a cookie, "Just shove this in your mouth, would ya?" He handed it to Dean, who stared at it for a moment then took it.

"Don't mind if I do." He said taking a bite out of it.

Jess stared again, opened her mouth to say something, then seemed to decide better of it and snapped it shut again.

"This is good," Dean told her.

She smiled at him, still looking slightly embarrassed, "Thanks, have as many as you like," she told him, then ducking her head a little she added, "… least I can do…" and shook her head again— she'd _gaped _at Sam's brother.

Dean nodded solemnly, "Yeah, having Sam as a little brother sucked. Your sympathy is appreciated."

"Dean!"

"What? You think you were a walk in the park or somethin?" He asked, turning to him, eyes wide in mock indignation.

Sam rolled his eyes. He slipped into a chair at the table and kicked out another one with his leg, "Just sit." He told his brother, "And take the jacket off… unless you plan on sleeping in it."

Dean scowled at his younger brother even as he slipped the jacket off and hung it on the back of the chair. Then he sat down and snagged another cookie. A moment later Jess brought him a mug of coffee, handing it to him with a shy smile. He took it from with a grin, winking at her.

Her smile widened. Then she turned to Sam, "Mocha, right?" she asked him.

He nodded, making a move to get up, "I'll get it—"

She shook her head, saying quickly, "I've got it," and turning away.

Dean watched as she headed to the counter. The kitchen wasn't quite as big as the living room. The lighting was dimmer, like there was a light bulb missing or something, but it still screamed _normal _to him— in a much less "gag me" way, though. Except for the roses on the plates and curtains, that is.

"So what happened tonight?" she asked, over her shoulder, "How'd you guys run into each other? Jake was having a heart attack," she added suddenly, cutting off any response they could've made to her questions.

Her tone was full of laughter now and Dean wondered if this girl made it a habit of interrupting herself or if she was just nervous…

She turned back to them, a mug in her hand, "He was freaking out. I got the words: car, Mike, Doug, guy, and pool." She finished, handing it to Sam and slipping into another chair across from the two of them.

Sam shrugged and brought the mug to his lips, "Thanks," he murmured, then added, "You know, Jake... he's overtly dramatic."

Dean slanted his eyes towards his brother, as he too brought his mug to his lips, "Nice way of sayin he's a girl." He murmured.

The brothers shared a look.

One that communicated Sam's, _you're such an ass _and Dean's, _but I'm right, _which the older man accompanied with a smirk; to which Sam quirked his lips to express a quiet, _maybe._

Jess watched the play by play, her eyes going from one to the other intently.

"I'm glad you're here, Dean." She stated simply, drawing two startled gazes to her.

Dean jerked a little, the carefree mask he'd adopted slipping momentarily. His gaze meeting hers in surprise, "Uh, thanks…" he muttered, uncomfortable with how _affectionately _she was looking him—as if they were family or something…

He set the mug down on the table, shifting his gaze a little to avoid the sense of welcome she was bestowing on him.

She nodded emphatically, "Sam's past is like the black of hole mysterious sighs and dark moods." She added, banishing any darker thoughts with her smile.

His eyebrows shot to his hairline. Dean didn't know what he'd been expecting, but straight-shooting like _that _wasn't it.

Could it be despite the pink roses plastered everywhere; the bouncy, blonde pony-tail; the sparkly blue eyes, and the tendency to blush and ramble that this girl had a backbone...?

Wouldn't that would be nice?

"Dark moods, huh?" He asked, shooting Sam a quick look.

"Oh yeah," She nodded, "Family is a—"

"Jess—" Sam said warningly.

"Shhhh, Sammy, show some respect. My future sister-in-law is talking," Dean hissed, reaching out and lightly slapping his brother on the back of the head. Then he looked back to Jess, "Go on, sweetheart—you were sayin?"

She blinked, her mouth forming a smile again, "Family is a touchy subject."

Dean nodded, "Yeah, Sammy here's got the sensitivity of thirteen year old girl," he stated, then added, "No offence."

Jess chuckled, "None taken."

"Speak for yourself, I'm offended," Sam muttered, then bit into cookie.

Dean shrugged; then leaned back, his gaze fastening on Jess, "So tell me 'bout yourself Jess. How's a pretty girl like you end up with a doofus like my brother?"

Her smile widened, "He paid me." She stated.

"I **knew **there was a catch somewhere!" Dean stated, grinning, taking in Jess's teasing blue eyes as she looked at Sam.

So far this was promising.

Sam groaned, "Don't encourage him," he told Jess.

She looked back to Dean, "He hired me as a Latin tutor," she told Dean, still smiling.

Dean blinked at her, straightening abruptly, "Latin?" he said, his voice suddenly hoarse.

She nodded, "We were in the class together sophomore year." She told him, her eyes flitting to Sam, "You could say the love of conjugating a dead language brought us together."

Dean stared at her, then let his gaze fall to Sam who was looking down at the table, a slow blush creeping up his neck—and rightfully so.

"Latin." Dean repeated, his voice infused with barely suppressed laughter, "He **hired** you to **help** him… with _Latin?" _He just couldn't stop the incredulity in those words—dear god, both he and Sam had been pretty much _fluent _in the language by the time they'd each reached twelve.

Sam kicked him under the table and shot him a quelling look.

Jess looked between them still smiling, "Yeah, few understand the appeal…" she noted. "Anyway, he caught on pretty quick and I didn't bill him for overtime."

A quick laugh burst out of Dean.

She continued, "So the relationship _bloomed—_until I found out he was pre-law and decided that no way could I date a guy who was pre-law, because every person in my life was either a lawyer or pre-law and I just wasn't going to do to that and—" she drew the word out, suddenly leaning back in the chair, "I'm boring you with history."

"You could never bore me, sweetheart," Dean purred, leaning forward on the table.

"Careful Dean, I think that constitutes as flirting," Jess warned.

"Yeah, it does." Sam confirmed, scowling at him.

Dean opened his mouth to respond when the shrill ring of the phone cut him off.

Sam's eyes shot to a clock that hung in the kitchen, "Who'd be calling at this time?" he wondered aloud.

Jess shrugged, even as she stood, "I dunno..." she drawled, smirking at Sam, "But I'll bet it has to do with _you _having a screaming match in the street in front of our friends." She finished, reaching out a hand and running it through his hair.

"Hello?" she said, shooting Sam a sunny smile even as he slumped in the chair and scowled at her, smoothing the side of his hair she'd ruffled.

Jess laughed at whatever the other person said.

"It's Kerrie, Sam," She stated a few moments later, "… she wants to know if this is why you had a problem with the delicious comment… what should I tell her?"

Sam scowled, "... to go to bed."

She laughed into the phone, "You heard that?" she asked the person on the other end.

"Yeah, they got here a little while ago… seems normal to me… no. Ker…! Jeez, he's…" Jess turned a bright red suddenly and spun away from the brothers, "You're **impossible** you know that!"

Dean shot Sam a look, Sam shrugged; signaling that he had no idea what was going on.

The laughter that followed Jess's heated declaration was light and affectionate, though, so neither man paid much attention.

Sam handed Dean another cookie and took one for himself, taking another sip of his mocha. He arched an eyebrow at Dean's mug, the older man nodded and brought it up to his lips, smiling a little.

"Everything's fine…" Jess's voice rang out suddenly as she started pacing the kitchen, still smiling, "… tomorrow, I guess… I don't really know… can we maybe have this conversation at another time," she asked, her voice teasing, "… you know, not in the wee morning hours…" more laughter followed that.

"You met Kerrie, right?" Sam asked softly as they finished devouring a couple more cookies. Jess moved away from them again, listening and smiling, her eyes shooting to Dean and Sam more than once as she gave short, soft answers.

Dean nodded, a grin spreading across his face, "Curly hair, brunette, blue-eyes, attitude, blunt—"

"—dating Doug." Sam finished for him, his tone softly warning.

Dean scowled, "—I'm not here to seduce all the women in your life," he hissed, suddenly upset.

Sam recoiled a little, surprised at the vehemence in Dean's voice, "I didn't say you were," he replied quickly, shooting a look in Jess's direction, noticing that she wasn't facing them. His gaze returned to Dean quickly though, "I just know that you—"

"You know _what?_ What could you possible _know, _Sam," Dean retorted, before his brother could finish. His voice hushed, but sharp, his eyes pointed.

Reminding Sam, _you left._

Sam swallowed hard, paling a little, a moment later Jess stepped over to them again. Her smile bright, her voice as warm and pleased as it had been moment earlier—only now it seemed out of place somehow…

"Doug called Kerrie from Mike's place," she explained, sliding back into her chair, "… to tell her that _their _Dean, was _your _Dean—except they didn't know your brother's name was Dean. So the entire conversation was apparently riddled with _are you sure's _and _really's _and _YES's…_which she completely blames you for, Sam."

Her chatter swirled around the brothers, neither really hearing her, the words lost to the memories and emotions rising up in each of them.

Her smile dimmed a little as she looked between them. They were staring at each other, neither having turned when she spoke, but the stare was not like the others she'd witnessed— she caught no sense of teasing this time, no hint of an inside joke, no brief glimpse into a shared past.

The stare was darker now, somehow more intense and she felt a chill of apprehension.

"Guys?" she called, trying to get their attention.

Sam jerked a little, pulling his gaze away. He seemed to falter for a moment, before pulling up a smile, that he directed at her, "Maybe its time we called it a night." He stated, quietly.

Dean pushed his chair back and stood immediately, nodding. "Good idea."

Jess swallowed hard, looking from one to the other, they weren't looking at each any more, but she could still feel the sudden tension between them— unspoken words that seemed to hum in the kitchen. It was the first time she could sense anything, but humor and affection in their voices, the first time she could _feel _the rift between them.

"You go on up, Jess. I'll clean up here," Sam offered, his voice loud in the silent kitchen.

It was a dismissal if she'd ever heard one.

She stood, nodding, still not sure what had just happened. How the cheery mood had suddenly gone so cold, so abruptly…?

"Okay, uh thanks for that, I guess," she murmured, waving a hand at the mugs and plate on the table. Her eyes went to Dean, " …well… I guess we'll talk some more tomorrow then." She finished, trying to pretend she didn't feel the sudden tension.

Dean nodded, meeting her gaze, "It was nice to meet you, Jessica." He stated softly and suddenly she saw a touch of Sam's earnestness in him.

She smiled at him a little, before turning towards the door.

Both brothers watched her leave the kitchen.

When the door closed behind herm Sam started to clear the table— a moment later Dean joined him.

"I didn't mean anything… by it."

Sam's voice was small—unsure.

Dean released a long sigh, "Okay. Fine." He stated, brushing the subject aside. He did **not **want to discuss the abrupt slip in his mask.

He looked over and shot Sam a grin— one that didn't reach his eyes, "I can't promise she won't fall at my feet though—I have that effect, you know."

Sam didn't grin back, "Why'd you get mad?" he asked, seriously.

"I say we take your advice and call it a night Sam." Dean stated, lifting the plate of leftover cookies, "Where do you want this?"

Sam didn't say anything. He stared at Dean. _Dean_ standing in his kitchen holding a plate of cookies— it was surreal.

"Sam?— Dude. Blink."

Sam swallowed hard, shaking his head, "Um… yeah, just give'm here. I'll put'm in the fridge."

He reached out and took the plate, turning and shoving them in the refrigerator. "Why'd you get mad?" he repeated the question a moment later.

"Sam—" his brother's voice sounded almost weary.

"Just tell me, Dean."

"I'm not mad."

"Dean."

"If you thought I was gonna cause havoc and destruction why'd you want me here?"

Sam blinked, "I don't—"

"I know you, Sam. You're already having mental conniptions."

Sam scowled, "I am not."

"Whatever."

"Dean… I want you here, because—I want you here. That's it. I don't care… if…"

"If I cause havoc and destruction."

"You won't." Sam said confidently.

"I could and that worries you."

"You won't."

"But I could."

"But you won't."

"Are you sure?"

Sam grinned suddenly, "This has gotta be the most stupid argument."

Dean rolled his eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips, "Please, dude... be serious... this doesn't even make the scale—"

Sam laughed, "I'm glad you're here…" he added, meeting Dean's gaze.

Dean held the gaze for a moment, before giving a quick nod, "Good; 'cause I'm not too bothered by bein here, myself…" he responded.

Sam rolled his eyes, "Good… come on, let's get you set up for the night…"

Dean nodded, taking his jacket and following Sam back into the living room. Immediately his eyes strayed to the mantle. Determinedly he swung his gaze away from it, instead focusing on Sam who was removing the blankets, pillows and cushions off the couch.

"My room's over there," Sam pointed, past the foyer towards a hallway, "Bathroom's that way…" he added, pointing in the direction, "Oh, and if you turn the hot water dial all the way to left the water goes cold… instantly… so don't."

"Interesting," Dean commented dropping down into an armchair, "They're these people that fix those things... I think they're called plumbers…" he added as he stretched out.

"Sure, don't worry; take a seat, I can handle pulling this out on my own," Sam replied sardonically shooting his brother a baleful glare.

Dean shrugged one shoulder, "I **am** the guest aren't I?" He said causally.

Sam rolled his eyes, tugging on the bed. When he finally had it laid out he looked to Dean.

"Yeah, we keep telling ourselves to get it fixed, but..." He stated, referring to the water as he grabbed sheets and turned back around to start making the bed. "We moved in right after graduation and now we're both busy and when we're not busy we don't feel like dealing with plumbers… so we just deal."

Dean nodded, "What'd Jess study?"

Sam turned a little and shot Dean a wry smile, "Psychology…" he said dryly, then added, "… specialized in health and development," before turning quickly to finish making the bed.

Dean arched an eyebrow at his brother's back, "That's gotta be…_ fun."_ He drawled.

Sam straightened, grabbing the pillows and tossing them onto the now-made bed, "Oh, yeah…" he murmured, his grin still wryif a little sad now,"I've had to… uh, _tone down _our childhood for her."

"Wouldn't appreciate the finer points of The Hunt, would she?"

Sam shook his head, "I think not," he murmured, then turned around to face Dean and motioned towards the sofa-bed, "Okay, all set."

Dean stood, "Thanks." He stated, eyeing the bed.

He looked tired to Sam suddenly, "Where you coming from?" he asked, then almost cringed when he saw the way Dean stiffened.

"Around, Sam, just around…" he muttered, not looking up, his voice warning Sam to drop it.

And Sam did, because he wanted this to work.

He nodded, "Alright," he muttered, telling himself to leave it— that he wanted this to work.

But he also had to know—he had a life, a _world_ to protect, "Are you on a job?" he asked, his tone hushed.

The living room was deadly silent suddenly and Sam tensed, waiting. Dean's gaze had shot up to his quickly and Sam noticed how dark that gaze had gotten. Burnt honey.

"… but you're not afraid I'll cause havoc and destruction…?" the older man taunted, and Sam read the anger underlying the words.

"Dean," he stated, shrugging, "I… just… want to… be prepared… if you are… I want to…"

"I'm not." Dean interrupted, his voice flat.

Reminding Sam of the conversation they'd had in the bar, reminding him that a few shared jokes and laughs weren't going to erase the past. He wasn't the same boy who'd left it all behind. It stood to reason that Dean wasn't the same boy who'd been left behind.

Sam nodded, pulling up the shards of a smile, "Good… consider this a vacation."

Dean arched an eyebrow, his eyes still dark, "A short one." He stated.

Sam shook his head, "Dean—"

"I'm here. I'll give you a rematch. But nothing's changed." The words were steady and Sam felt an urge to scream. He felt panic and denial and frustration all coiling together inside him…

And Dean saw and knew… and did what Dean always did, he made it better, easier.

"You're still gonna lose," he teased, making this about the game, looking away from Sam as he bent and lifted his duffel onto the now made bed, "… 'cause you **still** suck and I swear you're stance has gone to hell." He added, shooting his brother a mock glare.

Sam blinked, taking a deep breath, frowning at Dean's diversionary tactic—thanking him for it.

"We'll see… I was going easy on you," he responded.

The living room is silent for a moment, before both brothers just grin. Because they both **totally **know that Dean can kick Sam's ass at pool.

"… so, I'm gonna catch a shower…" Dean muttered, still grinning.

Sam nodded quickly, "Yeah, sure… please _do." _He said, emphatically. Dean flicked him off and started pulling stuff out of his bag.

"There're towels in the closet." Sam told him, Dean nodded.

Sam shrugged, "Okay, then… I guess I'm gonna go to bed…" he stated, suddenly reluctant to let Dean out of his sight.

"Good idea, I think there's a cute, little blonde waiting for you," Dean offered, grinning with innuendo, "I better not _hear _anything while I'm trying to get some sleep."

Sam started to scowled.

"Hey, I'm just sayin!" Dean protested, still grinning, "… remember you've got company here, company that doesn't need to _hear _anything,"

"Shut-up."

"That's not nice, Sammy."

"It's Sam."

"Uh-uh," Dean murmured, "So g'night already. What are ya wating for? You want me to walk you to the door or something?"

"Remember about the water…"

Dean nodded, "I got it."

Sam nodded back, but made no move to leave. He was scared suddenly; scared that if he turned around Dean would disappear just as if he'd never been there…

"So… I'll uh, see you in the morning…" Sam murmured, swallowing hard.

"It _is _morning," Dean said with a smirked.

Sam released a frustrated sigh, "You know what I mean…" he muttered, "I just… I want to make sure that you… you don't… I mean…"

"Go to bed, Sammy," Dean interrupted, his voice soft, "I'll be here when you get up."

"Promise?" Sam asked before he could stop himself; his voice sounding much younger than his twenty-three years.

Dean sighed, "Promise." He repeated.

Sam nodded, not knowing what else to say. He didn't have too though, because Dean just smirked at him again and turned in the direction Sam had pointed earlier, "G'night, little brother…" he murmured.

A small smile tugged at Sam's mouth as his mouth formed a whispered response, "G'night big brother," he murmured back and then slowly headed for his bedroom.

* * *

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* * *


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer**: I do not own "Supernatural"

**Author's Note**: Two for the price of one… because I made you wait so long…

* * *

It didn't surprise him to see her sitting up in bed, waiting for him. It was fitting he supposed—the day had begun with a conversation in bed, it might as well end that way.

They were both silent as he got ready for bed. She was already in her pajamas, her hair down around her face the way it had been this morning. This morning— it felt like a lifetime ago…

This morning… when he'd wanted a chance to _try_ and now he had it.

Only a lamp illuminated the room and her hair seemed to glow around her; when he climbed in beside her she shifted into him and he pulled her close.

"Well?" he asked softly, after the silence had stretched for several minutes.

She chuckled against him, "I stared." She murmured, her voice muffled against his chest.

"Yeah, I noticed," he said wryly, his voice still hushed.

"He's..." she trailed off; Sam waited, tensing a little... waiting for her opinion, hoping it was good... because honestly, he could already feel himself getting defensive if it wasn't.

"... not what I expected." She finished, gently.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, frowning in the dim room.

She pulled back to look into his face, a scowl firmly in place, "Don't get huffy with me, Sam. It's not like you ever _told_ me anything about him. It would have been nice if you'd told me what to expect."

His eye brows shot to his hairline, "Huffy?" he asked, the defensiveness gone as suddenly as it had appeared, replaced now by amusement.

"You know what I mean. I'm not saying I don't like him... I think I do... or I will. He's... charming." She grinned suddenly, "And Kerrie was **so** spot on."

Sam blinked a moment, losing her train of thought. Jess tended to skip around with thoughts, jumping from one to another and back again.

He remembered then, the night Doug and Kerrie had run into Dean— the description his friend had offered of Dean to the other girls in the room... and he scowled.

"That's not funny."

"Absolutely _golden_, just like she said," Jess continued, her eyes teasing, "Golden eyes... it's astonishing really."

Sam rolled his eyes, "Just don't _tell_ him, in case you didn't notice he's cocky enough."

"He is, isn't he?" she said grinning, "... but its... appealing somehow." She added.

Sam arched an eyebrow, reaching over her and flicking the lamp off, "Should I be worried, here?" He asked, drawing her close again as they stretched out in the darkness.

"That I'll fall prostrate at his feet?" she asked, then shrugged casually, as she snuggled closer to him, "Maybe... I already succumbed to his speechless effect."

Sam chuckled a little, "Don't encourage him." He warned, then sobered a little, "What actually happened with that..." he asked softly.

"I don't know..." she said softly, her voice contemplative, "I think it was just... he's different from you. I guess subconsciously I was expecting to see the same traits in him that I saw in you when we first met."

"Which were..."

"Fishing for compliments, _Sammy_?" she teased.

"Ugh," he moaned, squeezing his eyes shut, "… don't…"

She chuckled, "I think it's cute…"

"Uh-huh, he's doing it to bug me…" Sam complained, then arched an eyebrow, "You were saying?" he prodded her.

"Refusing to let it go, huh, counselor?"

"I'm just wondering…" he murmured, "... don't tell me if you don't want to."

Jess was silent for a moment, "I can almost _hear _you pouting…" she whispered, snuggling closer to him, "A bit more shyness and less of that _charm_, I think, is what I was expecting."

"Dean doesn't do shy."

She chuckled, "Yeah, I noticed."

"Kerrie wants to have a barbecue at the park tomorrow." She told him, moments later, just as he was relaxing into sleep. "She claims it'd be great day. Sunday. Great weather. And miraculously all our friends are available." Sarcasm dripped from the last few words.

Sam was shaking his head, "No. No. No way..."

"Sam—"

"Everybody needs to stay out of it."

"They're just curious."

"No, its not—"

"It's become a _thing_, Sam." Jess told him, she pushed herself away from him so she could looking into his face. He could make out her features in the darkness, "You're _mister-laid-back-nothing-ruffles-my-feathers_. You always have been. You take things with aplomb, nothing freaks you out…" she murmured.

The image of a Hellhound bearing down on him with bared fangs and bloodlust in its eyes flashed through Sam's mind...

… hard to top that on a college campus.

"… but you really freaked the guys out…" Jess continued, "When Jake talked to me he made it sound like you and your brother almost came to blows."

"We didn't." Sam interjected quickly, "Jake exaggerates."

"So you didn't stand in the middle of the street yelling obscenities at each other?" she asked archly.

Sam scowled, "Maybe, but… that's just… it's just the way we do things." He muttered, suddenly reluctant to talk about this.

He'd never had to explain his relationship with Dean to anyone and quite frankly, he didn't think he wanted to.

His relationship with Dean… just _was. _It just existed and he didn't feel the need to put an explanation behind it; didn't think he'd be able to if he tried.

Jess was silent for a long moment, seeming to read the sentiment in the air; she nodded slowly, lowering herself against his chest again.

"I'm just saying it freaked the guys to see you so freaked. I mean when the cool and collected friend loses it, it naturally upsets the hotheads." Jess continued, "And now everyone's curious…"

"Well too bad. No barbecue," Sam stated firmly, "I don't care if they're curious. I'm not going to parade my brother around so they can ooh and ah and satisfy their _curiosity_." He spat, still scowling, "I haven't seen Dean in a long time… _I _want to spend time him. Time without having a pack of intrusive stares following us around— time with just _us._" He finished.

There was silence for a moment, then Jess chuckled a little, "I'm not invited, then huh?"

Sam jerked a little; he'd been speaking almost to himself and realized suddenly how that had sounded.

He opened his mouth to smooth things over when Jess chuckled against him again, "It's okay, Sam. I get it. I do. I'd want to keep Jilly to myself too if I was in your situation. I told Ker that we'd see about the barbecue; that I'd call her tomorrow…"

Sam sighed, a smile tugging at his lips, "You like making me jump through hoops, don't ya?" he teased.

"It's a very cute side to you… this little brother side. I think I like it…" she murmured, "You're oozing the whole, _he's-mine-and-I'm-not-sharing _mentality—very four year old of you," she teased.

"Says the girl with the Smurfs on her pajamas."

"Shut-up, _Sammy._"

"Goodnight, _Jessy." _He taunted.

She laughed suddenly, taking him by surprise, "Oh god… that must have _so _sucked," she whispered, after a few seconds of silent laughter.

"What?"

"You're _Sammy_…" she whispered, her voice still full of amusement, "… and there's no equivalent for Dean…" she finished.

Sam scowled in the dark, "I'm glad you find that so amusing."

"Oh I do, baby, I do." She murmured, burying her head under his chin.

Sam rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything, just pulled her close and let the small smile bloom on his face; realizing that for tonight he had the best of both his world's under one roof.

* * *

_**Please Review!**_

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Supernatural.

**Author's Note**: I apologize for the delay. I was hoping for this to be the last chapter. It isn't, but it is long... so I hope that makes up for the delay!

Thank you so much for all the reviews and suggestions. You are all amazing for putting up with me and my erratic posting habits -- THANK YOU!

_

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_

_"I'm not going. I don't want to." The pronouncement was followed by the protruding of a lower lip and the crossing of small arms across a narrow chest._

_Dean drew in a long breath, "Sometimes we have to do things we don't want to do," he told his younger brother slowly._

_Sammy shook his head, light brown wisps flying around his face, "No. It's not fair. I want to go with you."_

_"You can't come with me." Dean explained, getting down on his knees so he could see into his little brother's face, "... but I promise, if you're good for Pastor Jim we'll do something really awesome when I get back."_

_"If you get to go with Dad I should too," the younger boy stated._

_Dean shook his head, "You can't, kiddo…"_

"_I don't want to go to Pastor Jim's..." the lip quivered, "I want to go with **you**..."_

_Dean sighed, reaching out and grasping his little brother's shoulders, "You can't Sammy. I'm bigger than you, that's why I get to come. Dad doesn't want you to get hurt."_

_"You could get hurt."_

_"I won't. I'm big."_

_"I want to go with you."_

_"You can't."_

_Tears welled in the big, brown eyes, "Then stay with me."_

_"Sammy..."_

_"Please stay with me..." the little boy flung himself into his big brother's arms, "Please, Dean, **please**, stay with me..."_

_"I can't. Let me go, Sammy..."_

_"Stay with me."_

_"Let go..."_

_**... let go...**_

_**... let go...**_

"Let go..."

Sam blinked slowly. He was holding Jess tightly against him, her face pressed against his chest, "Let go," she repeated, her voice muffled against him.

He blinked again and realized there was a banging sound coming from outside their bedroom and that light was streaming in through the windows - bright light.

"Sam... the door... let go..." Jess muttered ago, pushing against him lightly.

He released his hold on her a little, still feeling fuzzy around the edges. Elusive images of a blonde haired ten-year-old with regret filled green eyes flashing in his mind. Feelings of sadness, of loneliness; the sense of despair, of being left behind— of being separated… all still so strong in him he could almost taste them.

Jess fell against him suddenly, snuggling back into him, "... mmmm, it stopped..." she murmured, and he closed his eyes, burying his face in her hair. He relished the feel of it against his cheek, the scent of it and slowly he felt himself relaxing again. Her breathing was even and deep against him and he felt the dream images slowly fade away as he slipped back to sleep.

He should be getting up, he knew that. Jess was warm against him and the bed was soft, but the coffee smelled so good…

… _coffee…?_

The word rolled around in his mind for a moment, before its full meaning struck a cord. His eyes snapped open again and he jolted upright, "Shit." He whispered, nearly tossing Jess to the floor.

She gasped in surprise, "Wha-!" she murmured, catching herself before she tumbled backwards.

"Coffee!" Sam hissed, throwing back the covers.

Jess blinked at him incredulously as the last remnants of sleep faded, then she dropped back onto the bed, a scowl firmly in place, "You _shoved_ me because you want coffee...?" she asked grumpily.

"I _smell_ coffee," Sam corrected, standing.

Her scowl didn't fade, "Okaaaay..." she drawled.

"Did you get up to make coffee?" he asked sarcastically even as he headed for the door.

She jerked back up, her eyes widening, "Your brother..."

Sam nodded, "The door."

"Oh."

"I'm going, I'm going..." Sam muttered as he left the room.

He could hear voices as he walked down the hallway towards the living room. Taking a deep breath to fortify himself, he turned the corner.

He frowned a little, the living room was neat. The sofa bed was put away, the blankets folded, the pillows stacked on top of them. For some reason that bothered him.

That, added to the smell of coffee, told him that Dean had been up for awhile... and that bothered him too.

He'd missed enough time with Dean already.

Without further thought he pushed his way into the kitchen. Dean was at the far side of the room, leaning against the counter, a coffee mug in his hand, a smile on his lips, and shadows in his eyes.

The eyes he fastened on Sam were unreadable, but the younger man clearly read the tension in his brother's body language.

Instinctively Sam felt himself tense as well.

"Sam!" Kerrie cried, jumping into his line of sight. She was grinning.

He scowled at her, "What are you doing here?"

She stopped, the smile dimming, "We decided to go on a barbe—"

"It's kinda early for that isn't it?" he interrupted, still frowning.

She blinked up at him, the smile gone, "It's past two." She stated.

"It's 2:23, to be exact."

The clear, soft voice came from the kitchen table and Sam noticed for the first time that Lacey sat there, sipping carefully from a tea cup.

His eyes widened as the impact of her words hit home, "Oh shit," he muttered again, his eyes flying to Dean.

The older man's smile had disappeared, the shadows hadn't.

"It's a gorgeous day, Sam; you wouldn't want to sleep it away, would you?" Lacey continued, her words as clear and rational as he'd come to expect from her.

Lacey had been pre-law as well and of his college friends she was the only who made him a bit wary. She had a lawyer's suspicious mind and a woman's eye for details… and even Sam knew that when it came to his life, the details didn't always add up.

He wasn't in the mood for her today… he wasn't in the mood for _any _of this today.

This day was _his. _

His with Dean and they shouldn't be here.

He glared at Lacey, then looked back to Kerrie, "Jess told you no." He stated.

"Actually she said, _we'll see_." Kerrie replied.

"Do you need a moment to collect yourself, Sam?" Lacey interjected, standing, "You're being rude." She pointed out.

"Maybe you waking us up had something to do with it," Jess's irritated voice filled the kitchen and Sam almost sighed in relief. If anyone could defuse tension it was Jess.

"I see you've made yourselves at home," she continued, shooting them pointed glares. She fastened angry eyes on Kerrie, "Jeez, I told you I'd get back to you."

Kerrie shrugged, "It's not the first time we've shown up like this. What's the big deal?"

"We have a guest, that's the big deal." Jess hissed. Then looked to Dean and shot him a regretful smile, "Did my friends bug you?" she asked.

"Beautiful women never bug me," Dean offered, shooting Jess a grin, as he set the mug on the counter.

"We were just getting to know each other," Lacey supplied and Sam tensed again. He knew what that meant— questions.

"Getting to know each other?" he asked, shooting a quick glance in Dean's direction.

"Oh, yeah. Your friends are real interested in getting to know me," Dean offered, sending Sam a smile that meant more than his words expressed.

"If you interrogated my guest I'm kicking you both out," Jess hissed, making her a beeline to the coffee pot.

Lacey frowned, "The two of you are very surly today."

"… that's where the _you-woke-us-up _part comes in," Jess announced. Then turned a kind look on Dean, "Did you find everything you needed this morning?" she asked, "Oh and thanks for picking up the living room, you didn't have to do that though." She added.

Dean shrugged, "Habit, I guess," he murmured, "No big deal…"

"Habit?" Lacey questioned, taking her seat again. Ignoring the glare Jess sent her.

"Dad was in the military," Dean offered, his gaze meeting hers, "… wanted things organized… plus someone had to pick up after Sam the Slob over there," he finished shooting Sam a grin.

Sam rolled his eyes, "Oh please," he muttered.

"_Oh please,_ nothing." Dean drawled, "Dude, _look_ at you… twenty-three and … _still_…" he sighed, dramatically, "… the hair… remember that talk we had when you were a kid—about the comb and what it's used for?"

"Shut-up."

Dean's smile stayed in place, he shifted to look at Jess, "I found everything fine, thanks. I hope you don't mind I went ahead and made coffee," he paused, "… obviously."

She laughed, caught in the act of pouring herself a cup, "Jee, don't you ever, ever have coffee ready for me when I wake up again…" she stated then took a drink and sent him a baleful glare, "I mean, what were you thinking." She deadpanned.

Dean chuckled, Sam didn't, his gaze still going from Kerrie to Lacey resentfully.

"So Jake's on food and Doug's on setup, we're meeting at about four." Kerrie stated causally as she moved back to the table.

"So why are you here _now?"_ Sam asked.

"Dude." Dean warned his tone shifting subtly. Sam's gaze shot to him and he found his brother's hazel eyes fastened on him disapprovingly.

Dean always had this _thing _about being nice to women. He'd had it since they were kids. He didn't give a shit about manners when it came to men, but with women he always managed to hang onto a veneer of civility and politeness that _just _kept him from being labeled rude.

He was warning Sam that the younger man was dangerously close to tipping over the edge here—and that was not acceptable.

"I'm just saying it's kinda early," he muttered looking down, feeling defensive and chastised all at once.

"We didn't know your Dad was in the military, Sam," Lacey stated, her voice full that _curiosity _Sam so desperately wanted to avoid.

Sam continued to study the floor, "Well, he was," he stated, his tone somewhat petulant.

Silence filled the kitchen as he failed to elaborate. Sam looked up to find Lacey and Kerrie studying both him and Dean by turns, Jess still drinking coffee—ignoring them all, and Dean sending him a dark glare.

"Dad was a Marine." Dean offered, into the silent kitchen. His tone was almost conciliatory and for some reason it upset Sam to hear it.

Dean did not have to be _nice_ to them; he did **not** have to answer their questions… because _they_ _shouldn't be here._

"Yeah," he murmured dismissively, "Dean, can I talk to you for a second..." He added quickly, motioning towards the door.

His brother nodded slowly, "Yeah, sure."

"Excuse us," Sam stated to the women, his voice tainted with sarcasm as he glanced at Kerrie and Lacey.

He could feel their eyes on his back as he turned and left. Dean followed a few steps behind.

They entered the living room and Dean quickly dropped down into an armchair, folding his arms in front of him and releasing a long sigh. He'd gotten up two hours earlier and already this had been an interminably long day.

He stared at his brother, watching as the younger man began to pace in front of him.

"Can you believe them?" the younger man finally asked, "I mean of all the insensitive, invasive things to do—showing up here unannounced and asking questions and expecting answers and just thinking that we'd be okay with their need to suddenly know everything about my past and—"

"—so that overtly dramatic tendency of your friends'— it's contagious?" Dean drawled, interrupting him.

Sam stopped mid-breath and mid-step, whirling around to face his brother, "Dean—" he began.

Dean rolled his eyes, "You need to chill."

Sam scowled and dropped down to sit across from Dean, "So you're okay with the questions?" he asked incredulously.

Dean scowled back, "Hell no."

"So—"

"The more you dodge, the more they want to know," Dean cut him off, his tone disapproving, "… or did you forget that?"

"No, I didn't forget," Sam drawled, "… it's just…" he released a frustrated sigh, "I don't _want _them here. I wanted today to… to be just… you know… me and you…"

Dean rolled his eyes, "Well what did you expect when you started cursing at me in the middle of street in front of your friends?"

Sam gaped at him, his eyes wide. "You're saying this is _my _fault?"

Dean frowned, "Christ Sam! What were you expecting? To be silent about your family the entire time you've known these people then suddenly introduce your brother to them and have them not ask questions?" He asked, then arched an eyebrow, "Dude. I thought Stanford was supposed to make you _smarter." _

"Dean this isn't funny."

"Do I look like I'm being funny," his brother shot back, "I was with those women for fourteen goddamned minutes. _Fourteen,_" He emphasized, the hazel eyes suddenly flashing with frustration. "Do you have any idea how _irritated _**I **am! Do you have any idea how many questions fit into _fourteen minutes?"_

Sam arched an eyebrow, "What'd they ask?"

"… just about everything, but my goddamned blood type." He growled, "What I do, how long I've done it, if I like it, where I'm coming from, how long I'm staying, if I'm coming to the wedding…"

Sam's eyes had widened, "And you answered all that?" he asked on a squeak.

Dean's scowl deepened and the look he sent Sam stated the older man was seriously questioning his little brother's intelligence.

"**Hell, **no." He muttered emphatically, "It's called _diversion_, little brother, look it up."

Sam's eyes sharpened, he wasn't buying it, "Lacey's in law school; diversion doesn't work with her," he stated.

The scowl disappeared and a cocky smirk replaced it, "Charm does." Dean stated.

"She didn't seem particularly _charmed_ by you."

"All women are charmed by me."

"Dean, be serious."

"Sorry, it's that pony on your shirt—it's distracting me."

The younger man scowled again, his eyes traveling down to his shirt, "It's not a pony." He contradicted.

"It _looks_ like a pony." Dean stated earnestly, squinting at the image on Sam's shirt.

"It does **not.** It's a... a dog." Sam corrected his voice dropping a little.

Dean rolled his eyes and groaned, "God, is that supposed to make me feel better? You've got _animals_ on your shirt!"

"It bothers you that I've got animals on my shirt, but not that we're being maneuvered into this barbecue-thing?"

"That bothers me, Sam." The tone was darker suddenly; its pitch doing that abrupt shift that had caught Sam off guard twice now.

He didn't remember Dean being like this. The brother he remembered was very _in-your-face_ about what he wanted to do; unless it came to Dad, of course.

When Dad issued an order Dean fell in line, always. It had bugged the hell out of the younger boy.

_This_ brother was confusing the hell out of him.

This brother was smoke and mirrors— one moment he was laughing, the next moment he was looking at him so intently Sam felt goosebumps on his skin.

It wasn't necessary even a matter of words or expressions, it was something else entirely. Something Sam could _feel_.

He felt it now. The words were brief, simple, but he knew there was more to them, knew Dean was saying something else— something Sam knew he didn't want to hear.

"Well it doesn't seem like it," he stated, frowning at Dean; his tone a bit more gentle in the face of his brother's sudden intensity.

Dean shrugged, breaking eye contact, "What'd you want me to do? Throw a tantrum-- you've got that one covered." He reproached.

"I just... I had wanted us to..." it was Sam's turn to shrug now, "... we have a lot to talk about you know..."

"Not really, Sam." Dean cut him off, standing and moving away; his tone hard and dismissive, "All we have to do is play a game of pool. That's it."

"Dean—"

"It's what we agreed to," The older man interrupted, then added, "… it's what you want..." _it's all you can really accept..._

The unspoken words hung in the air for a moment, heavier then the ones uttered.

Sam opened his mouth to refute them, but a look from Dean stopped him.

.A look that said clearly, _just leave it_, and because it was still early, because they had an entire day, because he hadn't had coffee yet, Sam did.

"I'm gonna take a shower," he said instead, standing as well, "You can hang out in my study if you want," he offered, "It's the first door down the hallway…" he pointed out, "I usually study in there so there's no TV, but its probably better then--"

"-- in there," Dean finished pointing to the kitchen door and nodding vigorously, "I **totally** agree." He added.

Sam smirked.

"Although, I gotta say..." Dean added, when Sam started moving towards the bathroom, "You sure made some nice-looking friends at school, Sammy..."

"Sam."

"... I mean all of a sudden, I'm gettin the college appeal..."

A smile tugged at Sam's lips. Dean's eyes widened dramatically, "Whoa, so Geek-boy **does** remember how to smile!" He murmured, "For a minute I thought you'd lost that motor skill."

"Shut-up." Sam muttered as he left the living room; a grin spreading across his face.

Dean had always been able to make him smile-- at least that hadn't changed.

* * *

He'd always been able to make Sam smile-- at least that hadn't changed. 

Dean stared after his brother for moment before turning and dropping back down into the armcharim. This morning, he decided, sucked out loud.

He'd slept about four hours and then woken up to that restless feeling he got when he wasn't on a hunt. He needed something to focus on, somewhere to direct his thoughts. When he didn't have that, his mind wandered to places he'd rather it not go to.

With a quiet sigh he leaned he head back, closing his eyes. He was not going to think about how bad an idea this was—he'd already concluded that it was.

So really there was no need to give anymore thought to that. Instead he turned his thoughts to this barbecue that was in the works. His first instinct had been the same as Sam's— a resounding _oh **hell** no_, but the idea was beginning to grow on him.

Of course spending the day with the puppy-dogs, Ms. _I'll-make-myself-tea-thank-you,_ and whatever other forms of life Sam had befriended appealed to him about as much as wearing a suit and tie did.

It's just that that scenario had one **gigantic** benefit— no Sam-alone time. No time for his little brother to delve into an Oprah-moment, no time for Sam to ask him about his life, for Sam to try and merge their lives, for Sam to further delude himself into believing this could be more than temporary.

So the benefit of _not_ having time to do this was quickly becoming the lesser of two evils. After all, it wasn't the first time Dean had put up with unfortunate life forms. He knew how to do it. Just smile and pretend you were listening, try not to curse, and don't hit anyone— no matter how much they deserved it.

Sam would appreciate that. Sam who seemed very reluctant to go to this barbecue— which further reinforced Dean's belief that his little brother was just waiting for an opportune moment to spring a goddamned Oprah-moment on him.

He sighed again, lifting his head and straightening on the armchair. He knew what he had to do. It wasn't _right_, maybe it was even a little mean, it was definitely underhanded, but he had to do it. It was best for both them. It would keep them at arms length.

You couldn't hurt each other if you were at arms length.

* * *

Sam knew something was wrong. He'd found the empty living room and assumed Dean had taken him up on his offer. 

Apparently he hadn't. Standing in the doorway of his study—Sam felt a knot of dread form in his stomach.

Dean wasn't studying the bookshelves with a disgusted look or lying on the sofa with his boots on the coffee table—the room was empty.

Something was wrong.

In a quick movement he turned and headed for the kitchen. His long, determined strong strides eating up the distance quickly as he made his way down the hall and across the living room.

When he opened the kitchen door and found Dean smiling _that _smile at Lacey while Jess and Kerrie giggled, Sam felt his heart sink. In no way, shape or form did this scene bode well for him.

"Oh Sam…" Jess gasped out between laughs, her eyes wide and twinkling.

He frowned at her a little, before fastening a suspicious gaze on his brother, "What's going on in here?" He asked, trying to keep his voice causal and failing miserably.

Dean shot him a wide grin and Sam's alert-meter hit the red zone.

"… just some story swapping…" Dean offered lazily and the knot of dread in Sam's stomach twisted tighter.

"Story swapping?" he echoed as he walked further into the room, his gaze doing a quick study of the three women once again. Lacey and Kerrie were sitting at the table while Jess sat on the counter, her feet swinging in the air. They were watching him intently, amused smiles on their faces.

_What the hell was Dean doing out here anyway?  
_

"What kind of stories?" he asked, still doing his best to keep his voice neutral.

Jess giggled suddenly, "Oh Sam…" she repeated hopping off the counter and coming closer to him. She linked her arm through his and shot him a wide smile.

He noted the sad teasing tone of her voice and swallowed hard, "What?" he asked warily.

"Who knew you had such a past…" Kerrie continued with a teasing smile on her lips.

"A what?"

Lacey chuckled softly and Sam felt his blood pressure rising, he fastened narrowed eyes on Dean without saying a word, letting his gaze speak for itself.

His brother shot him a sunny smile, "You're fiancée has a right to know about your first wife little brother…"

"My first—" Sam cut himself off as the memory erupted forth from the depths of the Repressed-Memories-R-Us that constituted his mind.

"Oh god…" he muttered, feeling heat flush his face, "… you didn't…" he added.

Dean grinned then glanced around at the women, "He dressed up and everything," he told them, "… used Dad's aftershave, even combed his hair back…"

"… that's just…" Jess gasped giggling again, "Oh god…" her free hand came up to cover her mouth as she pressed into Sam.

"Wait till the guys here about it…" Kerrie added through her own hysterical gasps.

Lacey glanced at Dean, "There wouldn't be any pictures of this…" a delicate pause, "… _wedding, _would there?" she asked sweetly.

"No, as a matter of fact there wouldn't be," Sam growled darkly.

"He took a lighter to them when he ten." Dean stated, lowering his eyes and shaking his head sadly, "A real shame that was too…"

"All of them?" Jess asked, pulling away a little and peering at Dean, "Not even _one _survived?" she asked shooting him a wicked grin, "Not even in the clutches of a big brother?"

"Well…" Dean drawled, but Sam cut him off.

"No," The younger man hissed, "Not **one** survived. I burned them **all**, spread the ashes and did _chores _for a month to make sure it wouldn't be brought up ever again…" Sam finished heatedly, glaring at Dean.

_Chores, _of course, was code for _training-without-argument_ and Dean had brought this up _why!_

He could feel his face flaming.

"But you're getting married, Sammy…" Dean said sweetly, "It's a special occasion and what's more special than the story of your first wedding…"

"Shut-**_UP_**."

The girls were laughing again. Jess leaning against him, her body shaking with laughter, "Oh god Sam…" he murmured, "… a dog…?"

Sam groaned lowering his head, "I was _six._" He muttered, "And I wanted a dog…"

"… and a husband and wife should never be separated…" Dean added sweetly.

"That is just so sweet it _hurts_," Kerrie murmured.

"And where _is_ your first wife?" Jess asked archly, pulling away again so she could look up into his face.

Sam scowled at her. Hadn't he told her not to encourage Dean's delusions?

"Dad issued a divorce," Dean stated solemnly, then added looking at Jessica, "It's up to you to mend his broken heart."

The giggling started again and Sam shot Dean an incredulous look. The expression froze though when he met Dean's guarded gaze. Whatever was going on here it had nothing to do with an old memory.

"So Sam you ready to go?" Kerrie said getting up from the table, a smile still lighting her face.

His eyes went to her quickly, "What?" he asked frowning a little, "Go where?"

Her smile dimmed a bit, she shot a quick look to Dean before turning to Sam again, "To pick up supplies… you're driving right?"

Sam blinked at her, "What?" He asked.

"We need plates and napkins and cups, you know… supplies," Jess stated still looking up at him. Her eyes faintly puzzled now.

Sam looked down at her, "For what?"

"The barbecue," Lacey responded, then turned to Dean, "That's what you said right? That Sam would drive Kerrie…"

Sam swung his gaze to Dean, his eyes widening, "You said _what?" _ He asked sharply.

She turned back to Sam, frowning a little, "Yeah and Dean's coming with me to the park-- he offered to help Doug with setting up." She added.

"You _what?" _Sam hissed again, ignoring Lacey and taking a step towards Dean.

Dean met his gaze and Sam felt a shiver of apprehension slide down his spine. His brother's gaze was unreadable. Dean was closing him out and Sam felt himself tensing.

"Lacey wants a ride in my car," Dean offered.

"So do I!" Kerrie chirped, then shot Sam a frown, "Why don't you just go with Jess to pick stuff up?" she asked, "Then I can go with Dean in _The Car…" _the last words tinged with mock reverence.

Sam blinked at her then shifted his gaze to Dean again, "What?" he asked again, his voice devoid of sharpness now and full of confusion.

"The barbecue, Sam," Jess stated softly from his side, he looked down at her, "You agreed right? We're doing this…?"

Sam stared at her, the pieces slowly coming together. He looked back over towards Dean, "We're doing this…?" he murmured.

Dean nodded once, "We're doing this." He stated firmly.

Sam shook his head, "Dean—"

"It'll be fun." Dean cut him off.

And Sam stared at him in horror. _Fun? _This would be _fun…?_

Dean would rather face a horde of Harpies than spend the day barbecuing at a park. So what the hell was going?

"Sam?" Jess tugged on his sleeve.

"Dude. Blink." Dean told him. Then looked around at the women, "You'd think he'd outgrow the _floating-to-his-own-universe-shit-in-public _thing," he stated.

They laughed. Sam didn't. He stared at Dean. Trying somehow to see his brother's thoughts, to read him, to pick up on those vibes that had always told him what Dean was thinking, where he was headed.

But there was nothing. Dean's smile was wide and friendly and completely unreadable.

Sam couldn't reach him-- and that was terrifying in and of itself.

"We should get going," Lacey stated standing as well.

Dean nodded, "Lead the way." He murmured, motioning for Lacey to step in front him.

Sam's eyes widened.

What the hell was going on? His brother was actually going along with this? Going along with this meant they'd be in the company of his friends all day… they wouldn't get a chance to—

The realization dawned swiftly and furiously. His gaze darkened and he instinctively clenched his fists. The **jackass **was trying to avoid him.

They spend _four _**goddamned** years without communication and now Dean was _avoiding _him?

"This has gotta be a joke?" he asked abruptly, angrily.

Dean shifted a little, an edge of warning sliding into his stance, "Is what a joke, Sam?" he asked carefully. The women paused looking at Sam confusedly. He didn't care.

"You can't be serious?" The younger man continued.

"Sam? What's your problem?" Kerrie asked, noticeably upset now.

"You're acting really weird," Lacey added.

But Sam's eyes remained focused on Dean— Dean who stood absolutely still while he met Sam's gaze with steady, hazel eyes, "Why wouldn't I be serious about spending the day with you and your friends? Isn't that why you invited me here? To hang out with you?"

He was putting distance between them, setting up barriers, building fucking steel-reinforced walls and Sam was starting to lose his calm. He grit his teeth and drew in a calming breath, "Dean…"

"This will be fun, Sam. So get your ass in gear and let's go."

The calm was slipping through Sam's fingers. He shook his head, "You can't be serious…" he began again, incredulity still coloring his voice.

"I am." Dean interrupted, before the younger man could continue. His tone resonating with shades of John Winchester and Sam felt himself bristle.

The tone brooked no argument, it stated that a decision had been made and that Sam was expected to fall in line—like a good little soldier.

His fists clenched instinctively and he narrowed his eyes. His brother had made a decision alright… one he knew Sam would fight tooth and nail against.

Dean was in no way against using what was handy when in a fight, of finding cover wherever he could. And he'd known this would be a fight.

Sam had so much to say to him, so much they needed to talk about. So much he wanted to go over with his brother and for whatever reason Dean was being a **shit-head **and avoiding him.

**Hell** yes, it would be a fight. Dean had known that going in.

The girls had provided him perfect cover. Sam wouldn't blow them out of the water.

But of course, two could play at that game.

He drew in calming breath "Fine," he stated, "But I'll take you over to the park." He added then shifted to face Jess, "You and the girls take my car and go get what you need."

Jess blinked at him, frowning.

"Dude, Lace and Kerrie want a ride in my baby…" Dean stated his voice carefully light as he shot the women a wink.

"Yes! Yes we do!" Kerrie enthused and Lacey nodded grinning at Dean. Sam scowled at her. She was supposed to be the level-headed one, what the hell was she doing falling for that shit-eating grin of Dean's?

"Yeah well, so do I," Sam snapped after a moment, "And I have a little-brother-card that I'm pulling."

Dean frowned him, "Yeah well, it's my car and I say first ask first serve."

Sam glowered at him, "I'm coming with you."

Dean arched an eyebrow, "You are not," he murmured lazily, but his hazel eyes were dark and steady— warning.

"I am to."

The words were out before he could stop them. They swirled around the quiet kitchen in all their childish glory.

And they provided Dean with perfect ammunition.

The older man smirked, "Let's be grown-ups about this Sammy," he murmured, "… let the girls go first."

The words were swathed in carelessness; coating the issue with a triviality that neither brother felt.

Lacey and Kerrie giggled, Jess remained silent at his side.

"Yeah, Sam… be a gentleman…" Lacey murmured.

Sam said nothing. He stared at his brother and fought the urge to scream.

A gentle hand on his arm drew his gaze downwards. Jess was looking up at him with concerned eyes. He knew she could the tension in his arm and he made an attempt to physically relax, to unwind, but he knew it didn't' work. He knew he looked defensive, upset. He knew she could read the frustration in his gaze and stance. Maybe even the panic he was beginning to feel.

A moment passed and then she offered him a small smile before turning towards the others.

"Ah, but Sam is right," she proclaimed, "Little-brother-card trumps random-joy-ride card."

"Not for everyone," Kerrie stated, shooting Dean a smile.

Jess ignored her, plunging forward with that relentless determination that fascinated Sam.

"It does for me. The three of us will do the shopping and we'll let Sam and Dean go help Doug." She stated, moving over linking an arm through Lacey's, "Plus that'll give them a chance to catch up…"

Dean frowned, "I don't mind— " he began, but Jess cut him off with a brilliant smile.

"Oh don't worry," she murmured and then pulled out the ultimate weapon, "I have wedding things to discuss with the girls anyway…"

Both women brightened instantly.

"We can make a pit-stop at a coffee shop and talk it over," she continued, "Sam has left all the details to me… so I need _a lot _of help…"

"And we are more than happy to help," Lacey added, smiling.

Kerrie nodded vigorously, "Absolutely, and we can always get a ride later, right Dean?" she asked.

Dean stared at her in silence.

"We do have all day…" Lacey added.

Kerrie chuckled, "It's gonna be like the pony-ride at the circus. Everyone's gonna want a turn."

Jess and Lacey laughed.

"Do you know what color scheme your using?" Lacey asked, shifting to look at Jess.

Jess smiled as she shrugged, "No idea, thus the _needing-a-lot-of-help _thing…"

"Okay then… let's get going." Kerrie stated, reaching out and tugging Jess's arm. "Give Doug a call so he can tell you where he's setting up." She told Sam as the three women headed towards the door.

"Yeah, and tell him we'll be there around four or four-thirty at the latest." Lacey added.

Jess shot both brothers a look before smiling and calling out a cheerful, "See ya guys later."

And with that the three of them disappeared through kitchen door.

* * *

The silence in the kitchen lasted a full minute before Sam's control slipped and he snarled at his brother, "You're an ass." 

Dean smirked at him, "Jee Sam, tell me what you really think."

"What the hell did you think you were doing?"

"Uh, going on a barbecue. I have the sudden urge for a shish-kebob."

"You were being _nice _to them!" He accused.

"I thought you _wanted _be to be nice to them?" Dean asked. Guileless sincerity coloring his words—Sam was not fooled.

"Not _that _kind of nice… you told the dog-story, Dean?"

"Yeah… Jess appreciated that…" Dean drawled.

Sam scowled, "You offered to help!"

"Is that a bad thing?"

"YES!"

"Since when!" Dean asked, his voice rising a little in response to Sam's angry tone, "I'm _participating_… isn't that your dream come true?" he asked sardonically.

"My dream come true? Oh you mean spending the day surrounded by people so we get no time to talk?" Sam asked.

Dean smirked and opened his mouth.

Sam cut him off, "I'm not an idiot!" He roared, "I know what you were trying to do."

"What I'm trying to do is get through this day with minimal blood shed," Dean hissed, the smirk gone.

Sam flinched, "_Get through this day_," he repeated, "Is that how you see this? As something _to **get** through?"_

Dean rolled his eyes, "Would you stop with the melodramatic bullshit already?" he growled. "Christ you're like a fuckin never ending Lifetime Movie!"

"Fuck you Dean! I'm not going to apologize for wanting to have a conversation with you! It's been **four** years—"

Dean straightened abruptly, "You don't have to tell _me _how long it's been, Sam. **I know." **He hissed at his brother.

Sam ignored the warning in the older man's eyes though. "Then I don't get what the fuck your problem is!" He yelled.

"My problem is you acting like someone waved a **goddamned **magic wand and everything's changed!" Dean yelled back, his hands fisting at his sides, "When **NOTHING** has! We're still in the same situation we were four years ago, Sam! I still wanna hunt. You still don't!"

"That doesn't mean nothing's changed!"

"It sure as **hell **does!"

"You don't know that!"

"I **DO! **I know what you want and you **CAN'T** HAVE IT!"

"LET ME TRY!"

The words surprised Dean into silence. The idea that Sam wanted this enough to actually _try _for it, to actually _fight_ for it hadn't entered his mind.

"Let me try," the younger man repeated, as much to himself as to Dean.

For one moment Dean wavered. For one moment he almost considered conceding. Almost gave in and let Sam try—hell he almost offered to try himself, because what Sam was offering was beautiful; perfect even.

A chance to have it all— the best of both worlds.

But the feeling passed after a moment. Dean knew better.

He knew that although it might work for a little while, the day would come when it all came to a head and the aftermath of it all might be too much for either of them to handle.

The aftermath would draw the lines between them more clearly; it would make them more definite—harder to overcome.

Reality was harsh… and impossible to run away from. Hoping would only make the inevitable harder to bear. Expect nothing and you're less likely to be crushed under the weight of disappointment.

But Sam didn't see that— Sam saw the ideal outcome. Sam was willing to suspend belief in order to feed off the hope—the dream—that it would all work out.

And that hope would be the end of them.

It was Dean's job as the kid's big brother to watch out for him—to watch out for the things that Sammy didn't see coming and pull him out of the way before he got hurt.

That was his job.

And Dean had always been good at his job.

It was time to defuse this baby.

He offered the younger man a wry smirk and shrugged one shoulder, "Knock yourself out, little brother. In the meantime could we get this show on the road—'cause I could use a beer…"

* * *

**_Please Review! _**

**_

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	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** I do not own supernatural, nor do I own the line, "driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole!" -- but we all knew that! ;)

**Author's Note**: Hi everyone! Thank you all so much for your reviews and encouragement! I know I'm pain in the butt with posting! I'm nearly finished (yay!) so another chapter will be up shortly -- I swear! Thank you for patience! I hope you enjoy!

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"You've got to be kidding me?" Sam stated aghast. Dean glanced over warily.

They were the first words his little brother had uttered, without prompting, in the thirteen minutes since they'd left the apartment.

Just before leaving Sam had spat _jackasss _at him and then promptly slammed the kitchen door behind him as he stalked – _stalked – _out of the room.

Apparently Sammy had grown ovaries while at Stanford. Lovely.

He had followed Sam slowly and found the younger man standing by the Impala; his arms crossed and a mutinous expression on his face.

Without a word Dean had unlocked the doors and they'd gotten in.

Sam had been giving him the silent treatment so Dean had been giving it right back—until he'd been forced to ask how far this park because they were running low on gas.

Sam had heaved a great put-upon sigh and directed Dean to the closest gas station—in monosyllabic words.

Which was fine; no talking was just fine with Dean… yep… silence however, was not so fine with him. He hated silence.

So he'd leaned his head in the window, while he'd pumped the gas, and told Sam to put some music on.

And now Sam was staring at him like he'd grown a second head or horns or something…

"What?" he asked defensively.

Sam stared at him and said nothing so Dean shrugged and went back to pumping gas.

A few minutes later he finished, paid and sat behind the wheel again. Sam had yet to put music on.

You have to put the tape _in _the player for the music to play…" Dean advised, smirking as he pulled out of the gas station.

Sam shook his head, "This is ridiculous… christ Dean… you _really _have to update you cassette tape collection…"

Dean frowned, what the hell was Sammy babbling about…?

"Why? What's wrong with them?" He asked, shooting Sam a quick look. His little brother was staring at him.

"For starters… their _cassette _tapes… it's the 21st century."

"CD's are crap."

"_This _is crap."

"_Your _crap."

"Motorhead, Dean? Metallica?" Sam asked skeptically, holding out a tape with a disgusted look on his face, "It's like the greatest hits of mullet rock."

Dean scowled and reached over, yanking the tape from his hand, "And what do you listen to? ABBA?" He spit in a disgusted tone, as he shoved the tape in the player.

"Fuck off."

"Shut-up."

"Turn it down."

"No"

Sam scowled, "It's too loud," he hissed.

Dean smiled grimly as he reached over and turned the volume up even more, "Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cake hole." He proclaimed as he took a corner fast.

"Watch it!" Sam cried, reaching a hand out to the dashboard.

"Too fast for you, Sammy?" he drawled teasingly.

Sam sent him a heated glare before settling back against the seat and staring out the window-- in mutinous silence.

Dean sighed, fine— he could deal with that. He'd take mutinous silence over heartfelt chat any day.

Five minutes later he realized he had no idea where he was going.

He shot Sam a quick look and found his little brother was currently busy glaring holes through the passenger side window—lost in his own little world of passive-aggressive rage.

Dean knew he could ask, hell he _should _ask or who knew where the hell they were going to end up, but he didn't **want **to. He didn't want to be the one to break the silence, because the one that broke the silence was inviting conversation and god knew the last thing he wanted was conversation.

"So you planning on tellin me where the hell we're going or should I just drive…" he muttered at the next red light.

Sam said nothing for a moment, then, "Keep going straight. I'll tell you when to turn."

Dean nodded; that wasn't so bad. No conversation, just information. He liked that. Maybe this wouldn't be as bad as he'd thought. The silence stretched for a few more minutes.

"So is it far?" he asked.

Another pause, then "No," Sam's response was short and given without looking at him.

Dean mused on that a moment, "How far _is _it?" he asked.

"Turn right at the next corner." Sam answered, his tone still cold and tight.

Dean sighed softly.

Sammy was pissed off and nobody could do pissed off like Sammy—except John Winchester, of course.

He hadn't _meant _to piss Sam off, not really…

He hadn't seen his little brother in four years! Why the hell would he want to spend their time together angry? It was just… he didn't want to spend their time together tearing off scabs either.

And that's what would happen. Wounds that had healed would be reopened, because no matter what Sam thought—things hadn't changed.

So he drove and every few minutes Sam would offer directions and the music blared and the houses thinned and soon they were driving alongside the gates to a park.

He parked the car in the lot and waited for his brother to say something. Seconds ticked by and Sammy didn't so much as turn towards him—_fine. _Shooting Sam a quick glare, Dean reached over to open the car door, "Okay, then…" he muttered.

"October third."

The words were said abruptly and Dean paused, shooting his brother a wary looked, "What?" he asked.

Sam was staring straight ahead, his gaze fixed on nothing.

"October third," the younger man repeated in the same detached tone.

Dean frowned, dropping his hand from the handle and settling back against the seat, "Uh, okay… what about it?" He asked.

The car was silent for a very long moment and Dean sighed again, "Look Sam, it's hot in here so if you could just—"

"It's my wedding day." The younger man stated, shifting in his seat. His dark eyes suddenly fastened on Dean steadily. "October third is my wedding day."

Shit.

A lump materialized in Dean's throat, "Oh," he murmured.

This was one of those conversations he didn't want to have. One of those things that was better left untouched.

A conversation that was destined to be awkward no matter what route they took.

"I want you to come." Sam finally continued, his voice as steady as his gaze.

Dean looked away, shifted away, and remained silent. Maybe if he was silent this would all go away…

"Dean…" Sam continued, "I'm telling you four months in advance. _Four months. _I want you here. I want you to come. I want you to be my Best Man."

Dean's pulse quickened, it wasn't going away… it was getting worse.

"I want you to wear a suit and give a speech and _be here."_

Dean shook his head, enough was enough.

"No can do, Sammy," he muttered as he reached for the car door again, "I don't do suits or speeches, you know that."

"Dean…"

But Dean didn't wait to hear what else his brother had to say. Outside he picked a direction and started walking. It didn't matter if it was the wrong one—the point was to get away. The point was to stop this before it got it worse.

As usual when it came to things between them—Sam missed the point. He heard the car door open and slam shut, knew Sam was watching him walk away.

"For me…"

The words were stated so softly that Dean should have missed have. But he didn't. He heard them loud and clear and they made him stop.

"… I want you to do this for me…" Sam continued his voice still soft, "Will you do this for me…?"

Dean didn't turn around. He let those words hum in his head for a moment. It was funny, but in all their lives Sam had never said those words to him. They had underscored his entire childhood, buzzed in the background of every day, but they'd never been said. They'd never had to be.

And that Sam would say them now… it felt _wrong _somehow. It felt like his little brother was deliberately trying to manipulate him.

He turned slowly and walked back to the Impala. They stared at each other across the top of the car. As the seconds ticked by the determined glare in Sam's eyes faded when faced with the hardness in Dean's; he began to look a bit unsure of himself.

Dean said nothing, only stared at Sam; making sure to let his little brother see the coldness that had washed over him like ice.

"You don't get to ask me that," he finally stated in a chilling voice.

A flash of _that _night filtered through Sam's mind. The yelling, the demands, the anger, the look in his brother's eyes that he'd refused to acknowledge—the request in those eyes…

But Sam was a Winchester and he could face the cold for what he wanted; he lifted his chin a little and the determined look returned, "I'm just asking…"

"Don't."

Sam frowned and shook his head, "It's my _wedding…!"_

"And you really wanna discuss it _now?_ Out _here?"_ Dean asked motioning around them.

Sam opened mouth clearly intent on saying YES, but then suddenly snapped it shut. Instead he looked around. There was a constant stream of cars coming into the lot. People unloading chairs and coolders, kids unloading soccer balls and baseball bats, men with fishing rods, women with tanning lotion— people everywhere. Their chattering and laughter ringing in the air, it was a perfect day to be at the park.

"No," he said instead, "I guess I don't, but I do—"

"Good," Dean cut him off, tearing his gaze away and forcing himself to pull up a good mood, "Lead the way then, cause I'm starving…"

Dean ignored Sam's irritated expression just the way he'd ignored the voice that had told him to get the hell out of here. He was here now and he would make the best of this day if it killed him.

He shot his brother a _well _look and motioned for the younger man to go ahead of him. Sam glared for a moment, then shook his head in what might have been either disgust or frustration and took the lead.

"Fine," he grumbled, "… but I won't forget… we have to—"

"Yeah, yeah, Sammy… I get it… bare our souls, bake cookies, paint our nails…" he grumbled right back. _Christ, his brother could be annoying._

As they fell into step together Sam shot him a look that seemed to mirror Dean's own thoughts. Dean glared back and the brothers found themselves pausing in their strides to glare at each other, then they once again fell into step next one another.

Oddly, that somehow made them feel better.

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"You made it!" Doug cried as Dean and Sam made their way towards him.

He was sitting at a picnic table with a beer in one hand and a magazine spread out in front of him. Behind him the gas grill sat in all its un-set-up glory.

"Yeah, despite your ass-backwards directions." Sam grouched.

"Ah, the Prince of Cheer himself," the other man murmured, tipping his beer towards Sam then bringing it to his lips.

"I thought the point of you being here was to set the grill up," Sam retorted as he reached the table.

Doug frowned at him lightly, "It's outa the car isn't it?" he asked balefully.

"You're a lout," Sam accused, dropping onto the bench.

Doug frowned again, then looked up at Dean, "A what? What did he just call me? Am I supposed to know what that is?"

Dean chuckled, "He's pouting 'cause the directions you gave him to where you'd set-up, weren't _precise _enough_." _

Doug looked over at Sam, "Dude. Do I _look _like a GPS system?"

"Shut-up," Sam hissed

Doug chuckled, "I can't believe you're _brothers," _he added a moment later staring across them.

"How awesome is that?" he asked, grinning.

"How many beers have you had?" Sam asked frowning, as he approached the grill. "And where's Mike? Kerrie said Jake was getting food… is Mike with him?"

Doug's eyes widened in mock defensiveness, "This is my first one!" he cried, then shook his head and smirked, "Naw, Mike's handling the delivery people."

"What delivery people? For what?" Sam asked, looking up from where he was studying the barbecue.

The other man shrugged, "Entertainment… want a beer Dean?" he asked.

Dean nodded, moving to sit across from Doug at the table, "Thanks," he stated when Doug handed him one.

"What kind of entertainment? For what? How long is this gonna be?" Sam asked in a rush, straightening and shooting his friend a glare.

"Whoa there, chill…" Doug cried, putting his hands out in a gesture of retreat, "... entertainment to be uh, be entertained with…" he stated, "You know how he is... I think he said something about playing soccer today..." Sam just stared at him, "I don't know how long its gonna be Sam… it hasn't even started yet. What's up with you?"

"Don't mind Sammy-- bein pissy is his primary form of communication." Dean stated, bringing the beer to his lips.

"It's _Sam_." The younger man practically growled. Dean lowered his beer and smirked at his littler brother.

"Okaaaay..." Doug drawled, "... whatever... uh, usually Sam's pretty laid-back," he told Dean after a moment.

"I must bring out the best in him then," the older man stated, still smirking.

"Do either of you wanna get off your asses and help me put this shit together!" Sam hissed, straightening. Doug and Dean exchanged glances; a moment later Doug went back to his magazine and Dean transferred a baleful gaze onto his brother.

"Dude. Put that Stanford education to use..." he murmured.

"I didn't major in engineering, Dean... this thing has more wires and tubes and... what the hell _is _this?" he asked holding up a small rubber knob, "What happened to a grill and coal? Coal was good, coal was easy..." Sam grumbled.

"How 'bout reading? Did they teach that at Stanford?" Dean asked when Sam knelt in front of the barbecue again. The younger man looked up, already scowling and Dean sent him a wide, innocent smile as he motioned towards Sam's right. Sam moved over a little and found, sitting innocuously in the grass, a small white book with a cartoon etching of a barbecue on it.

"Oh yeah man, the manual's right there..." Doug added suddenly, looking up from his magazine, "You weren't gonna try and put it together without it were you?"

Dean chuckled and Sam sent him a killer glare.

"Dean!" he bit out, his voice tainted with frustration.

The older man sighed, "Okay, okay... I'm coming... jeez..." he muttered, as set the beer down and got up, "You know that's backwards right..?"

"It is not!"

"Yeah, it is..."

"And you know this _because_...?"

"I have eyes." Dean deadpanned, "Dude, you have to _connect _the gas before you can-- you know what? Just move..."

Sam blinked at him. Dean rolled his eyes, "No, really, _move. _Let me do it, your making a mess..."

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to change his mind and snapped it shut. Instead he took a few steps back and then lowered himself onto the grass; sitting Indian style to watch as Dean began putting things together.

"So where're the girls?" Doug asked suddenly, "I thought they were coming with you..."

"Uh..." for some reason Sam was having a difficult time taking his eyes off his brother, "... wedding stuff..." he murmured, hoping that would be enough to satisfy Doug.

It was-- on that subject at least.

"Big coincidence, me running into you twice huh, Dean? You being Sam's brother and all?"

Dean sighed softly-- _talk about beating a dead horse,_ "Yeah, guess it was..."

"You should have **told **us at the bar that Dean was your brother," Doug continued, looking at Sam, "We thought you were going nuts... so why **didn't **you tell us?"

Sam heard the question, registered that a response was expected, but still his gaze refused to leave Dean, who by now had the barbecue looking like... well, a barbecue...

_Let me do it, _his brother had said, another refrain from their childhood. The implied, _let me fix it _that went along with it, the quiet faith of a dark-haired boy that his big brother **could **fix it, no matter what it was...

"Didn't you know Dean was in town?" Doug continued when Sam didn't say anything. "Sam?" he asked, his voice a bit sharper now.

Sam swallowed hard, "Uh, yeah... I... Dean and I... we uh, we..."

"... haven't been in touch, much lately," Dean finished for Sam, shooting the younger man a quick frown and a look that clearly said _what the hell? _

"Right, yeah... exactly," Sam added, drawing a deep breath and willing himself to just be _normal. _He'd been doing it for four years why the hell was he having so much trouble now...

"Oh," Doug stated, looking between them, "But you knew Sam was at Stanford, right?"

"Right." Dean said in a clipped voice as he turned back to the barbecue.

Doug frowned, "So how come--"

"Is that Mike over there?" Sam asked suddenly, standing and directing his gaze towards a section of trees. Doug stood with him.

"That's a girl, Sam." He stated after they'd studied the area for a few beats.

Sam shrugged, "Oh, my mistake... what are you reading over there anyway? Anything interesting? Did you bring anything aside from beer-- I'm starving... Kerrie and Lacey practically dragged us out of bed..."

"It's like three o'clock!"

"Did you bring _food, _Douglas, **that **is the important issue here? Chips? Cookies? Twinkies? _Anything?"_

Doug sighed, "Yeah, I brought stuff. Hold on, let me get..." He murmured as went over to where he'd piled a few bags of stuff. He was rummaging through them noisily when Sam felt Dean standing at his shoulder.

"You are so rusty I can hear you _creak, _man," the older hunter said softly.

Sam smirked a little, even he had to admit that his diversionary tactics weren't the best, "Lucky for you my friends aren't used to subterfuge."

Dean chuckled a little, "They're naive as hell, Sammy."

"It's **Sam,** Dean. And they're not _naive... _they're just..."

"Normal." Dean provided tauntingly.

Sam shifted a little, a scowl ready, but found a slight smile on his brother's face. Dean was watching Doug drop boxes of Hostess Snacks from bags onto the ground.

Sam's face cleared, "... you finished?" he asked instead, letting his voice carry over to Doug.

Dean nodded, "Yep. All ready for a steak..."

"Here." Doug dropped seven boxes of snacks on the table.

Dean nodded, "Awesome, I'm starving..."

Doug nodded, "Yeah, I could go for a few too..."

Sam smirked a little as he watched the two men tear into the boxes. Dean's head lifted suddenly and he shot Sam a wide grin full of so much genuine amusement that it had the younger man's eyebrows rising in surprise. He shrugged a little, silently asking Dean what was up.

The older man motioned towards the mess of boxes and wrappers he and Doug had made, "Dude..." he murmured, "...we're ravishing Little Debbie..."

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**_Please Review!_**

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	10. Chapter 10

**Discliamer:** I do not own "Supernatural."

**Author's Note**: Two more! Two more to go! Chant with me people! Two more to go! I'm so excited to be finishing this! I really hope you all have enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it and nit-picking it in my head! ;)

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"Sooooo, Dean seems to be having a good time..." Jess murmured as she dropped down next to him.

Sam shifted on the blanket to make room for her. His gaze still out in the field where his anti-social brother was currently embroiled in a very social soccer game. Mike had arrived, as usual, in style. A van with goals and soccer balls and even sneakers, hell if he'd had time he might have brought uniforms too. He'd also brought three guys they'd hung out with at school. Jake had brought two girls he was _friends _with, and Kerrie, Lacey, and Jess had had decided that they wanted dessert too; so they'd brought cake and fruit and pudding and whipped cream-- this was not an event that would end early. There was a mountain of food, enough beer to keep a bar stocked for a weekend, and enough testosterone to keep the game going for hours.

Sam was not happy.

Dean was avoiding him, practically _ignoring _him to be exact and he was doing it by becoming a _joiner_. Dean was **not **a joiner. Dean made fun of joiners. So the fact that he was willing to become one to avoid Sam was highly insulting.

It also made Sam seem like a jackass to his friends, because he was sitting here moping while his brother charmed them all into believing that whatever riff existed between the brothers _certainly _wasn't Dean's fault. Not Dean who'd taken Lacey and Kerrie and Jake's two friends on a joy ride. Not Dean who'd declined all Mike's offers, but told him the name of dealer in New Mexico who had classic cars for a good deal. Not Dean who was winning the game for Jake's team and had set up the grill for Doug...

"Sam?"

He started a little, pulling his gaze away from the game and fastening it on her, "Yeah," he muttered in response to her question, "Yeah, he does..."

Jess was silent a moment, "You don't," she said softly.

"I'm fine."

She tilted her head to one side slightly, studying him, "You are...?"

"Yes. I'm glad he's here."

"You are...?"

"Of course! I've missed him...I'm glad he's having a good time..."

"You are...?"

"Yes!" he snapped, suddenly irritated.

"Then why are you over here?" She snapped back.

The question stole the wind from his sails. He looked away. The sun was low on the horizon, not setting yet, but getting there. The day was ending and Dean had only given him only one. When they went to the bar, they'd play the game... and then Dean would leave.

The day was ending and he was here... in park, watching his brother play soccer with his friends... _sharing _his brother with his friends...

"Sam?" Jess questioned, coming closer to him, pressing herself against him, not letting him ignore her. "Tell me what's going on here."

"I can't." He said softly.

"Yes you can. It isn't just your brother that's not what I expected." She continued, "It's you too. And your relationship."

He shifted towards, upset by her words, by her questions, "What's that supposed to mean?" He hissed. _Why couldn't she just leave well enough alone?_

She arched an eyebrow at him, telling him she didn't appreciate the tone, but her voice was soft when she answered, "It means I expected that two brothers who never spoke and never saw each would be rather..." she paused a moment, "... indifferent to each other," Sam opened his mouth to speak, feeling indignation at her words, but Jess rushed on, "I expected to see coldness between you and that's the _last_ thing that I've seen... in all the time I've known you, I have never seen you volley back and forth between moods so much . You keep reverting to--"

Sam had had enough. "Don't psycho-analyze me, Jess! I hate it when you do that!"

"I'm not! I just have _eyes _Sam! One minute the two of you are laughing -- the best of friends and the next you're glaring holes into each other and people around you can _feel _the anger, then you're teasing each other -- all inside jokes and laughter, it makes my head spin!"

"I don't have to explain--"

"No, you don't, but I hate to see you torture yourself unnecessarily." She cut him off, her tone abruptly soft again.

Sam blinked, he'd been expecting more yelling, the quiet took him by surprise, "I'm not..."

"You are," she interrupted again, "Why aren't you playing? The guys asked and asked and asked..."

"I'm not in the mood..."

"Because Dean is playing?"

"Because we shouldn't **be **here! Because he's going ot leave and we're wasting time!" Sam growled, his voice rising with his emotions.

"He's having fun." She said simply and again he felt himself deflate.

He didn't have a comeback for that. His gaze went back to the game. They were taking a break, discussing strategy as if it were a battle plan and not an afternoon of _fun._

"You could have fun with him," Jess added, "You could play with him..."

Sam shook his head, "No... I can't... I... it wouldn't..." he sighed, "I'd ruin it... somehow... at first it would be... okay, but then..." he paused, searching for the words and Jess waited. Silently.

He took a deep breath and tried again, "We haven't..." he trailed off, not knowing how to continue, how to tell her what they still _hadn't _done.

"... cleared the air..." she offered and he stared at her a moment before nodding slowly, thankful that she understood that. Thankful that she wasn't pushing to know _what _needed to be cleared.

"Yeah, exactly... everything just has... double meaning and that... that would ruin it..." he finished, letting his gaze drop from hers.

"Sam..." she called after a long moment of silence.

He sighed and looked at her. She gave him a wry smirk, "Take it from me, I'm an older sibling, I know these things... sometimes a game of soccer is just a game of soccer," she stated, "He's here because of you, _for _you... so why don't you just... play the game!"

He ducked his head a little, "It's complicated--"

She rolled her eyes, "No Sam. It's not... just try to get the ball to into the opposite net." She stood suddenly and reached down grabbing his arm, "Come on... I'll be your personal cheerleader!"

"Jess!"

She pulled at his arm and when he wouldn't move turned towards the field and screamed for the guys. She screamed that Sam had changed his mind, that he wanted to play, that he was worried about upsetting the teams...

An instant later his quiet, secluded spot under a tree was invaded by the two teams.

"You can be on there team," Jake drawled, "they need all the help they can get."

Sam stood, shot a glare at Jess for good measure, and then began to extricate himself from this mess, "I actually don't want to--"

"Aw, come on, man..."

"What's up with you?"

Sam shrugged and opened his mouth, but Dean's voice made him snap it shut again.

"It's better if he doesn't-- used to trip all over those freakishly long legs whenever he used to play..." his brother stated calmly.

Sam scowled, "I did not."

Dean's gaze met his for the first time in two and half hours, "That's how I remember it, Francis..." the older man drawled, "You wanna clarify that memory for me or what?"

There was something besides a challenge in Dean's voice and it took Sam a moment to identify it -- _come play. _A request.

"Fine. I will." He muttered, but there was a sudden amused glimmer in his dark eyes and it matched the glimmer in Dean's hazel ones. Who knows, maybe Jess was right this time.

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"**Christ! **Is **every **game the two of you play like that?" Mike collapsing dramatically onto the bench and draping his arms across the table. Lacey laughed and shoved his arms off the table so she could sit on it.

"**That **was intense." Jake drawled, as he started handing out beers.

Doug shook his head, wiping sweat off his face, "It was vicious."

"It was appalling!" Jess hissed, "_Look _at you!"

"You're all covered in sweat and grass and dirt...!" Lacey stated, eyeing Mike with ,mock distaste.

"They're _bleeding, _Lacey," Jess corrected.

She nodded, "Yeah, that too."

Sam shrugged, looking down at his elbow, "Just a little."

"Soccer is barely a contact sport!" Jess continued.

"Except for the tackling," Kerrie added, chuckling, "I think this was more of a rugby-slash-soccer game."

"You scared off the other guys!"

"Aw come on, Jessy. How were we supposed to know they worked in television..." Dean drawled, shooting her a warm, amused smile.

Jess was not amused, "Don't _Jessy _me. They _told _you they did... and then you got _rougher!"_

"Everything was fine till Sam started playing..." Jake offered.

"No, but seriously..." Mike began, "Is _every _game the two of you play like that?"

Sam shrugged and exchanged a look with Dean, "Like what?"

"I don't know... like... do or die..."

The brother chuckled, "Winchester's don't play to lose," Dean offered and Sam nodded.

"Yeah," he picked up, "So it makes it kinda tough when two Winchesters are playing on opposite teams..."

"Well you both lost," Jess stated, exhibiting devious glee and shooting them both brilliant smiles when they glared at her.

"We both _won,_" Sam argued.

"A tie is open to interpretation, Sam..."

"_We_ would've won if we hadn't lost two of our players!" Jake defended, "We were shorthanded!"

Sam shook his head, "I'm just _that _good..."

Dean snorted, "Dream on..."

"You two were out for blood," Mike continued with his tirade on the viciousness.

Sam rolled his eyes, "We were not..." he drawled.

"... out to win," Dean corrected.

"You should have seen that pool game last night..." Jake called out, grinning at the girls.

"... a thing of beauty," Doug piped up, "I would have enjoyed it a lot more if I hadn't been worried my friend was on the eve of a nervous breakdown."

Sam shrugged a little, looking a little sheepish, but he remained silent.

Mike nodded, "That was intense too," he added.

"You two must make one helluva team, huh?" Jess wondered, her gaze on Sam's face.

He met her gaze and smiled, "Yeah..." murmured, before shifting that gaze to Dean, who was watching him.

Dean offered him a half tilted smile, his eyes still warm in the park lights, "Unbeatable, even..." the older man added.

"I'm hungry," Jake stated.

Kerrie shrugged, "We ate already."

"We're gonna hafta eat again, 'cause I'm hungry."

"We gotta pack it up, they're gonna kick us out of here any minute." Mike stated, "I had the delivery men load up the gear as soon as we were finished, but we gotta pack up all this stuff."

"Okay, yeah... but **food.**"

"We can go back to that bar we were at last night," Dean stated, "Sam and I are going back anyway..."

And just like that reality washed over Sam.

"Going back for what?" Jess asked.

Dean shot her another grin, "Sammy wants a rematch..."

"Sam lost by one shot, he deserves a rematch..."

"... still gonna lose..."

"The meaning of pack it up, means put things away..."

But Sam wasn't listening anymore. All he could hear was the word _rematch, _all he could think of was what would happen after; after they went to bar and played pool. The day was nearly over.

They'd had a good time today. It had surprised the hell out of him...

He could remember days when they young, when Dad had been on a job, and they'd sneak away to a park. He could remember being friendly with all the kids in the playground minutes after they'd gotten there while Dean hung back and played on his own or simply watched him. He could remember being a little older and asking his brother to just try and be nice, to just try and blend in, to just _make an effort. _He could remember Dean's smirk and the way he'd brush the request off with, _you're __makin__ enough for the both of us. _He could remember wishing his brother would just _connect _with someone, because maybe, just maybe if Dean did, he'd want to stay and if Dean wanted to stay too maybe they would.

But his brother never did want to stay.

Dean could always manage to be a part of and yet not; to find a way to stand back. He hadn't stood back today though. Today Dean had gone above and beyond the request to _make an effort, _but Sam wasn't fooled. The day was nearly over and no matter how much fun Dean had had, no matter how well he'd blended it, Sam knew it still made no difference...

His brother never wanted to stay.

He'd just gotten better at passing through.

"Dude, you could _help _us, instead of impersonating a statue!" Dean snapped at him as he walked by lugging a cooler towards the parking lot.

Sam started a little.

"Sam thinks he's management or something," Kerrie taunted, "Here, lead from the front..." she stated, handing him the second cooler.

"Leave him alone, he's nursing a bruised ego..."

"Well he should be! He actually _tripped!"_

Sam scowled at that, shooting Mike a dark glare, "I did **not **trip."

"Oh yes you did, baby... we _saw _you," Jess purred as she followed towards the lot.

"You did, Sam, you _fell_," Lacey confirmed.

"_I _did not trip," he repeated. They were all walking towards a parking lot now, each carrying a load. Sam let his voice carry when added, "_Someone _**tripped **me."

Dean was a few feet ahead of him, walking with one girls Jake had brought by, but that comment had him hanging back a little and shooting his little brother a smirk, "Aw come on Sammy, admit it... you still haven't gotten the hang of those stilts you call legs..."

"You're just pissed 'cause I got that shot right over your head," Sam retorted.

The others laughed and joined in the teasing and for one moment Sam caught of glimpse of what it could've been like. They teased and joked all the way to the parking lot. Their cars were practically the only ones left in the lot. The park was practically closing the gates behind them.

"So this bar...?" Jess drawled, when they'd put everything away and were milling around the cars, "Where is it?"

"Near my-- _our _place," Mike offered, correcting himself with a quick a look at Lacey. She rolled her eyes, but shot him a smile anyway.

"I vote everyone who smells like a dumpster goes to their respective homes and showers before we out to dinner," Kerrie stated.

Jess nodded, "Yes, especially if you've got blood on your clothes... that would **not **make a good impression anywhere."

Dean and Sam couldn't help but look at each other and grin. The number of times they'd gone somewhere covered in blood and god-knows-what-else was in the double digits.

And it came again-- the glimpse of what it could've been like... _if only..._

A small voice told him not to be fooled. It told him that Dean never wanted to stay. It reminded him that his brother had given him one day... and that Dean always meant what he said.

But it had been such a _good _day. So Sam let himself grin at his brother and when Lacey arched an eyebrow and looked between them, asking _what's so funny _he just chuckled.

"Dean and I parked over on that side," he murmured a few minutes later when the others were getting ready to get in their cars.

Mike sighed dramatically, "Dude, are you _sure _I can't take that car for a drive..."

Dean laughed, "Sorry man..."

"He'll take you for a spin-- like he did the girls," Jake taunted.

"Sooner everyone cleans up, sooner we can eat..." Kerrie reminded them, "We'll meet at the bar in an hour..."

"Yeah, I've got work tomorrow, so let's make this an early night..." Lacey stated.

"We've all got work tomorrow," Jake stated, "But how often is Sam's brother in town, huh? I say we celebrate..."

"You just wanna get drunk, you bum," Jess teased.

"Just because I chose to not completely enmesh myself in post-graduate life, does not mean I'm a bum," Jake defended.

"It's only nine now," Mike offered.

"Exactly! The night is young!"

Lacey rolled her eyes, "Fine, let's celebrate, but only because..." she shot Dean a grin, "I like Dean..." she finished.

Dean grinned and winked at her, "I like you too, babe..."

Mike cleared his throat and shot a glare at Sam, "Could you watch him, please!"

Sam laughed, "Are you kidding?"

The man in question shrugged with false modesty, "Sorry Mike, I have this effect on all women," he murmured, "It fades in a few weeks though," he consoled.

Mike glared at him now, "Good to know."

The others laughed. Jake took keys out of his pocket. Doug followed suit. Soon they were all headed for cars, cries of _see you later _ringing in the air. Jess hung back a moment, "My car's here so I'm not going with you," she told Sam softly, "If you tell me where the bar is three of us will meet you guys there..."

Sam nodded and gave her directions.

"See ya later," she murmured and went up on tip-toes to kiss him, "You had fun, huh?" she asked quietly.

He grinned, "Must you rub in that you were right?" he asked teasingly.

"Always!"

She'd run a few feet when suddenly she stopped and ran back, "Oh listen! We went to an invitation store and I put a bunch of samples and stuff in the living room. I moved Dean's stuff into your study..."

Sam opened his mouth, but she cut him off, "I _know _its your private domain… but I swear, I didn't look at anything or touch that lovely organized disaster you have going in there… I just dropped his stuff and ran, okay…" she was grinning at him and he rolled his eyes.

"Okay, fine," he murmured, "You'd better go... I see Lacey changing CD's in your car..." he told her.

She made a screeching sound and whirled around, running to her car.

Sam heard a chuckled behind him. Dean was standing a few feet away. Neither one moved or said anything; they just watched until all of Sam's friends had pulled out of the parking lot.

Then they wordlessly headed for where they'd parked the Impala.

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**_Please Review!_**

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	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** I do not own "Supernatural." Let's not rub it in.

**Author's Note**: One more to go, guys! I'm editing it as you read! Thank you for reviewing. I hope you enjoy this chapter, I really enjoyed writing it.

The end scene is where I've been wanting to get since the sixth chapter of this story. I just couldn't figure out how to work it, lol... but I finally did!

Thank you again for all the encouragement! The last chapter will be up Friday at the latest!

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"Thank you," Sam said impulsively when the Impala came into view.

Dean hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should pretend ignorance at his little brother's words, at the _meaning _behind those words; wondering if he should pretend like he hadn't purposefully set out to be as _normal _as possible to his little brother's friends.

But why bother with that when they both knew what he'd done. He'd played a game-- and as usual, he'd done it for Sam.

He shrugged a little, "Not a big deal," he murmured, then confessed almost guiltily, "I kinda... it wasn't as... I mean..."

"You had fun," Sam provided, a huge smile on his face that reminded him of little Sammy when he'd finally gotten Dean to play checkers with him. Dean couldn't help, but return it.

He nodded a little sheepishly, "Yeah, I guess I did..."

"I had fun too," Sam nodded, waiting as Dean unlocked the car doors.

They were silent as Dean pulled out of the parking lot.

"My friends like you," Sam stated softly a few minutes later.

Dean nodded, "Well, who doesn't, Sammy..." he drawled, shooting his brother a smirk.

But Sam wasn't in for bull-shitting, he was being serious, "I mean it, Dean. They _really _like you, they weren't faking or anything. They like you..."

Dean shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable suddenly.

"Were you... you know...? Faking?" Sam asked when the silence stretched. It didn't matter really. What mattered was that Dean hadn't provoked any questions in his friends-- at least not any that Sam couldn't bluff through. It didn't really matter if Dean _really _liked them or not. He'd pretended to and that was enough. He'd made them believe... and that was enough.

Except it wasn't.

He wanted to know if his brother liked his friends, wanted to know if his brother _approved _of them and no matter what his head told him, in his heart he knew there was nothing more important. In his heart he knew he'd waited four years to hear what Dean thought.

The older man was silent a moment, then shook his head, "For a bunch of geeks there not so bad," he offered shooting Sam a quick grin, "You could do worse, Sammy..."

"It's Sam," he responded automatically, even as a grin formed on his face, "Admit it, you _liked _them," he stated, feeling confident in that fact now.

Dean chuckled, "I'll tell you who I **did **like," he murmured.

Sam rolled his eyes, "See, you spent the entire day with us and not one weird thing happened-- it _can _be done."

"I never said it couldn't."

"So come to my wedding."

Dean smile vanished and Sam swore he felt the _car _tense around him, "Don't start," his brother grit out.

"I don't get what the problem is, Dean."

"Don't tempt fate, that's the problem."

Sam shook his head, "I'm not. Just because--"

"Do you know why I'm in California, Sam?" Dean asked, abruptly cutting him off. Sam snapped his mouth shut. Dean shot him a sidelong glance, "Do you _want _to know?" he asked coldly.

The silence stretched.

"_That's _the problem," Dean pointed out a moment later.

"Not wanting the supernatural in my life doesn't mean not wanting you to—"

"It's a package deal," Dean interrupted.

"No! It's not! Look at today!" Sam cried, shifting in his seat to study his brother's profile, "Look at how great today was!"

Dean laughed, but the sound brittle, "Christ Sammy," he murmured.

"You said you had fun, you just said it!"

"It isn't about _having fun," _Dean contradicted shaking his head.

"Then what's it about, huh?"

Dean released a frustrated breath, shooting Sam another dark look and thanking the heavens that traffic was light, "I can't put my life on hold all the time, Sam..."

"Not all the time, Dean... just sometimes... once a month... every couple of weeks... on October 3rd..."

Dean rolled his eyes, but a small smile lurked on his lips. Sam knew he was making sense, could feel that Dean was giving in and he felt a small smile light his own face.

"Sam--" Dean began, but cut himself off as he started a little in his seat, "Shit," he murmured and reached down, pulling a phone out of his pocket.

Sam watched as the little smile faded off his brother's face and suddenly felt a chill go down his spine. He knew before Dean looked over said it, who was on that phone.

"It's Dad," his brother said softly, but the impact was the same as if he'd yelled it.

Sam flinched and shook his head, "Dean don't--"

But his brother was already pulling over onto the shoulder of road, already raising the phone to his ear, already lost to him...

"Hi Dad."

"..."

"Still in California."

"..."

"Yes, Sir."

"..."

Sam saw the way Dean hesitated suddenly before he spoke again.

"No, Sir." His brother finally stated.

"..."

"Something came up," Dean said, fidgeting a little in his seat.

"..."

Sam glared at his brother, "Tell him you're with me," he told Dean angrily, but Dean made a shushing motion with his hand and automatically Sam's mouth snapped shut. It reminded him that while he'd been prone to disobeying his father's every word, he'd always followed Dean's orders.

"Something..." again the hesitation, "... personal," Dean continued.

"..."

Sam heard the pitch of his father's voice suddenly and knew that John Winchester was yelling. Dean remained silent through the tirade and finally Sam stopped hearing the muffled cries.

"I understand," Dean finally replied.

"..."

"Yes Sir. Oregon, okay..."

Sam felt his breath catch, _what?_

"..."

"Yesterday, I got it, Dad."

"..."

"Yes, sir."

And then Dean was putting the phone away, tucking it into his pocket, avoiding Sam's gaze.

"Does he know you're with me?" Sam asked after a few mintues of silence.

Dean shook his head, "No." He said simply.

"But he's pissed," Sam added unnecessarily, staring at his brother.

Dean nodded, pulling back into traffic, "I didn't check in after the last job... he has a new gig for me..."

"Dean--"

"Vacation's over, Sammy."

Sam felt a lump rise in his throat, his hands fisted and his jaw clenched, "No..." he choked out. _It was too soon..._

Dean shot him a quick unreadable look, "I have a job to do, Sam."

"So leave tomorrow, get a good night's sleep..." Sam tried, his voice steady as he told himself to stay calm, to stay rational.

"I have to leave _now," _Dean stated, his voice as steady as Sam's.

Sam blinked at his brother, then shook his head again, "No, Dean... you can't..." Sam stated.

"I have a job, Sam," Dean interrupted, his tone hard, "People's lives--"

"No! Don't give me that bullshit! That goddamned bullshit that Dad force-fed us!" Sam hissed.

Dean's hands clenched the steering wheel a bit harder, but he said nothing.

"You can't just leave, Dean... come on, man... you… you can't... you owe me a game... everybody's waiting... you owe me a game..." Sam babbled, the fury of his last words dissolved in the face of Dean's silence. He hated Dean's silence. You couldn't argue with silence and it had always been Dean's most effective weapon. He wasn't like their Dad or even like him, Dean didn't yell back. He just waited for the storm to pass.

And when this storm passed, Dean would leave...

"The rematch, Dean... you owe me a rematch..." Sam repeated. The car stopped suddenly and Sam realized they were back at his apartment.

"I have to get my stuff, then I'll drop you off at the bar, you can get a ride back with Jess." Dean said calmly reaching for the door handle.

Sam sat in the empty car for a moment, before the words his brother said actually registered. He jumped out of the car and found Dean waiting for him upstairs and outside his apartment door.

Dean smirked at him, obviously trying to lighten the mood, "I was just about to pick it," he murmured, but Sam didn't bother to respond to that. The mood could not be lightened.

He just shook his head, "You can't be serious..." he whispered.

"No really, I was about to start..."

"You're just going to leave?" Sam asked his voice carry the bewildered quality of a child's, "You can't **do **that…"

Abruptly, Dean tensed and his gaze seemed to suddenly _burn, _"Why not?" he asked, his tone hard, "_You _did," he spat.

Sam flinched as if he'd been struck-- he hadn't seen _that _coming.

Dean stepped back, "Open the door, Sam." He ordered and just like that, Sam stepped forward and unlocked the door; his mind still reeling from the verbal back-hand Dean had issued.

Inside the apartment he watched Dean study the living room. It was a lot messier than they'd left it that afternoon. Magazines and invitations littered the sofa and coffee table.

"Where's my stuff?" he heard his brother ask.

Sam swallowed hard, "uh... Jess she, uh… put it in the study..."

Dean nodded, turning to head that way.

"Dean," Sam called out.

The older man paused, but didn't turn around.

"It wasn't..." Sam drew in a deep breath, "When I left... it wasn't... it had nothing to do with you... it was that life... I couldn't... take it, I didn't _want _it... I felt like was... drowning somehow..." he stuttered out, trying to put into words everything he'd felt and wanted all those years ago.

It was as hard to do now as it had been then-- especially when Dean turned around and pinned a hard, hazel gaze on him.

"But it wasn't about you!" Sam cried, wanting his brother to understand that.

Dean was utterly still for a long moment.

Sam took a step towards him, ready to continue, but the flash of something dark and warning in his brother's gaze stopped him.

"Well sorry Sam, I never got that memo," Dean growled.

"It was the hunting Dean, it was Dad and his inability to _hear _me, it was the moving and the--"

"Christ Sam, would you LISTEN to yourself," Dean roared suddenly, "That's _my _life, that's my _world. _You think Dad _hears _**me**. Dad doesn't _hear _**anybody**, Sam! You were just too damn blind to look around and see that we were _all _drowning!"

"You walked out on _us, _Sam, not just on the hunting or Dad's orders, but _us-- _as in me too... and now you want to pretend like it never happened... well, sorry I don't deprogram that fast..."

Sam said nothing, could say nothing, could think nothing... Dean's words swirled around his head in a haze. Their meaning so horrific that his mind refused to register it-- all it could come up with, all it could deal with was simply, Dean was mad at him.

"I'm getting my stuff," his brother announced abruptly and Sam watched as Dean strode away from him.

And he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Dean was going to leave tonight... and that he had no right to demand anything from his brother-- even another visit.

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Dammit, _dammit_, **damn-it, GOD-_damn_-it...**

_Why _the **fuck **had he done that? Why even _go _there...

He shoved the study door open so roughly it practically slammed against the wall. He couldn't help it though, his body was humming with pent up anger and adrenaline that had no where to go.

He reached for the door and closed it behind him. Looking around he found himself in a room that was obviously a den... a room that was obviously _Sam. _

It wasn't large and what there was of it seemed to be mostly bookshelves, but it was welcoming somehow. A desk sat at one end, a sofa at another, a coffee table sat between them and two tall floor lamps stood at attention in the corners, but it was the mess that spelled Sam. There were papers, pens, books and notebooks _everywhere-- _on the desk, on the coffee table, on the sofas. Every surface was covered with one book or another. A laptop sat on the desk, surrounded by textbooks and an old mug.

The room had his little brother stamped in every nook and cranny and it made Dean feel like shit. He hadn't _meant _to yell at Sam... but **dammit **nobody could push his buttons like Sammy could...

Four _years _and the kid still didn't _see _anything. For being one of the smartest people Dean knew the kid could be just plain _stupid_ sometimes. He still didn't get it. He still thought that Hunting was just what they did. Dean sighed softly, looking around for his duffle. Sam just didn't understand... Hunting is who they _are. _

It stopped being a job a long time ago. God knows sometimes it felt like one-- a really crappy one, but it was their duty, their calling... at least for him it was.

He didn't _want _to live another life. Even if today hadn't been as bad as he'd anticipated...

He'd surprised himself by actually liking Sam's friends. Of course, it could be because he'd managed to see a bit of Sam in all of them; Doug's curiosity, Jake's goofiness, Mike's cautiousness, Kerrie's wit, Lacey's wariness-- all pieces of his little brother.

And there was Jess of course, he couldn't have hand-picked a better girl for Sammy. There was a careless quality to her, an irreverence that lightened the mood around her and god knows Sam was perpetually surrounded by a dark mood.

So Sammy had gotten what he wanted… and now he wanted more.

He really hadn't meant to yell at his little brother. It was just… Sam making excuses, justifications for leaving… it had made him see red.

He didn't want Sam to justify himself. He didn't want Sam to explain. All he wanted from Sam was for him to understand…

He just wanted his little brother to understand why Dean couldn't let it go. _Why _it had hurt… _why _it was such a big deal that he'd gone college.

He spotted his duffel sitting on by the side of the desk and started heading around the desk to get it. Fat chance of that happening though, his little brother seemed to have it stuck in his head that his leaving them in North Dakota to go to Stanford, California should have had absolutely no lasting effects. He seemed to believe that because he was following his dreams no one had a right to be _hurt _by it. He seemed to believe that—

Dean's thoughts halted abruptly .

It was sitting by the laptop, surrounded by textbooks and pens, inside wood, covered by glass…

He'd been 21, Sam 17… he couldn't remember where they'd been only that Sam had hated it, as usual.

He remembered he'd set out to make his brother smile. He remembered that he'd gotten tickets to a concert. He remembered that Sam had hated it and that he'd bought his little brother a t-shirt and sang himself hoarse until Sam had cracked a smile told him he was an idiot. He remembered that he'd bought a disposable camera and taken shots of the band. He remembered that towards the end Sam had been enjoying himself. He remembered surprising Sam in a playful, one-armed chokehold and snapping a picture with his other hand. He remembered tossing the camera to Sam so the younger boy could take a picture of him with band.

And he just now remembered that he'd never gotten that camera back.

The picture had come out good. Great, even. Dean hanging over Sam, Sam caught looking up at him; wide smiles, shining eyes, sunshine in the background. There was affection in the picture-- you could _feel_ it; you could hear laughter in it too…

It wasn't in Sam's living room; on his mantle surrounded by other friends and family.

It was in Sam's study; on his desk surrounded by his books and notes.

And somewhere it that, Dean realized suddenly, lay the defining detail of their relationship, of how Sam saw him. Somewhere in that was the reason why Sam could say with so much fervor and honesty that he'd turned away from everything, but not him.

Because he'd never been a part of everything…

The door opened and he looked up. Sam stood there.

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_**Please Review!**_

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	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer**: I do not own "Supernatural."

**Author's Note**: This is it! The end! Thank you all so much for following my story! I know I've been erratic at best! I can't thank you all enough though, for all your encouragement. I really hope you enjoy this... I really enjoyed writing it. These guys are so fun to torture! ;-) No tissues necessary, I swear!

* * *

They stood in silence for a long moment. Dean behind the desk, Sam at the doorway, neither one ready to say a word. Sam moved first; entering the room. He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet in a way that reminded Dean of one hundred other times when Sammy had feared his big brother was upset with him.

"Dean..."

"Sam..."

They spoke simultaneously and offered each other wary smiles in the ensuing silence. Sam swallowed hard, but couldn't find the words to begin.

Dean cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable.

The air between them was awkward, heavy with all the things they wanted to say and didn't.

Sam took a fortifying breath, "Listen Dean, about what I said--"

Dean shook his head, "Don't," he interrupted.

But Sam insisted, "Let me--"

"Let you what?" Dean interrupted again, "Apologize?" he asked, his tone almost sad.

"Dean--"

"For what? For telling me how you feel about our life?" A wry smirk appeared on his face, but the eyes fastened on Sam were dim with sadness, "I'd heard it before, Sam."

Sam shook his head, but Dean continued, "For leaving?" he asked, "You won't mean it, Sam... you can't..." he finished softly, waving a hand around the room, "Leaving got you this..."

Sam took another step into the room, "What _you _said-- about you and Dad—"

Dean shook his head, "I shouldn't haven't said that... I shouldn't have snapped at you like that..." he stated.

Sam took anther step into the room, "God Dean... don't... god... I don't know... I don't know what to say... I didn't... I didn't mean to hurt you..."

Dean held up a hand, "Just stop, Sam... just stop..." he murmured, his words sounding so weary they made Sam's breath catch.

Dean stepped out from behind the desk, getting closer to his duffle bag.

"Dean..." Sam swallowed past the lump in his throat, he had so much he wanted to say and the words just wouldn't come-- and he was running out of time.

"Come on," Dean stated, bending down to pick up his duffle, "I'll drop you off at the bar..."

"No," Sam replied instantly, "I'm not going."

Their gazes met and for a moment they just studied each other, before Dean shrugged, "Okay have it your way... I gotta get--"

"I was angry." Sam interrupted, doing his best to talk past the lump in his throat, "I was angry and I didn't think..."

"Sam--"

"Just let me say this!" the younger man hissed, "I need to say this!"

Dean stared at him hard for a few seconds, then dropped the duffle bag to the floor and gave Sam one nod. And the younger man remembered to breath.

"I was angry all the time back then... I thought it was all just so unfair... and you... you never minded any of it; you wouldn't take Dad's side but you wouldn't take mine either and that just... made it worse... and I didn't realize that... I didn't see what it _looked _like to you... I didn't-- I _never _thought for one minute that you thought... that you thought it had to do with you..."

Dean's gaze was still fastened on Sam and at this he narrowed his eyes slightly, "Like I said... we're a package deal."

Sam shook his head, his hesitancy fading suddenly, "No, not to me. To me it was never a package deal. You were always the only thing that _wasn't _unfair." He said firmly.

Dean blinked at that, his gaze leaving Sam as he shifted his feet a little, not really knowing how to reply to that.

"You were never on the list of things to leave behind... you were the only thing on the list of things to go back for," Sam finished, his voice suddenly thicker.

Dean's head shot up.

"And I _am _sorry," Sam whispered, "I am so sorry I didn't pick up when you called..."

Dean's eyes widened. He took an instinctive step back, his body clenching as if preparing for battle. He hadn't expected that. He couldn't talk about that. He couldn't _think _about that. As much as Sam's leaving had hurt, he could rationalize that pain down... but the unreturned phone calls, unanswered messages... there had been only one way to interpret those.

And that had _hurt; _that understanding that Sam really did want **nothing **to do with them-- with _him. _

It was something he couldn't play-off, something he couldn't minimize. Just like the flash of hurt that flittered across his face was something he couldn't stop.

Sam took another step forward, bringing them closer. "I shouldn't have done that. I should have picked up when you called," he whispered, "I was just... I was afraid that if I did I would-- I would get sucked back in, that I would end up going back; but I know now, I can see that, that... you wouldn't have-- you wouldn't have let that happen, would you?" Sam's voice was taking on that little boy quality again in his effort to control the tears that threatened.

When Dean didn't respond, Sam felt the stinging in behind his eyes intensify, he drew in a shuddering breath, "I'm sorry that--"

Dean made a sudden downward slashing motion with his hand. "Stop saying that," he hissed, frowning at Sam, "You... you don't have to be," he finished more softly, lifting his gaze to Sam's, "You have a life here and I don't... I don't want you to think that... that I don't want you to have it... I mean I'm happy that you..." he cut himself off, releasing a rushed breath, and running a hand through his short hair.

Sam nodded, "I know... I know that you want what's be... I know you want me to be hap-- god Dean, I should have known then too... I just... didn't..." Sam stuttered and finally trailed off.

A moment passed and then Dean released a frustrated sigh, "Look Sam, we can stand here and trade apologies all night, but it doesn't make a difference-- it was a fucked up time in you life, fine. I get it. You didn't want me to drag you back down into it, I get it. Right now you're wishing that you'd," he paused, it was hard to be glib about this, but only glibness would save them, "That you'd picked up the phone. I get it. You--"

Sam gaze flashed suddenly, his eyes narrowing, "No, you **don't **get it. With you at the other end of that phone line I didn't trust myself to... to be strong enough... to not just turn around and go home--"

Dean made a huffing sound, suddenly looking a whole lot less acceptant and whole lot more pissed. "-- what home, Sam? Wasn't that one of your pet peeves?"

"_You! _Jeez Dean, aren't you _listening _to me!"

"_I _am! _You're _the one who's not _listening!" _Dean hissed back, "I'm part of that world!"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Okay, I GET that! Now _you _GET **THIS**: you're the only part I would've taken with me if I could've!"

"Then you should have PICKED UP THE FUCKIN' PHONE!"

"I KNOW! That's what I just said!"

"Okay then!

"FINE!"

They both fell silent, both realizing the absurd turn their conversation had just taken.

"I made a mistake," Sam said into the silence, his voice low and his eyes pleading, "Help me fix it."

Dean started a little-- Sam had no fuckin' right to use those big, puppy-like eyes like that. He wasn't five for godssake!

This entire conversation was tearing him up-- this is exactly what he'd wanted to avoid. The yelling and the emotions and tearing off of every fuckin scab...

"Just let it go, Sam." He stated, reaching down and picking up his duffel bag again.

Sam started shaking his head immediately, so Dean shrugged and offered the closest thing to an olive branch he felt safe giving, something that would minimize the bloodshed. "I'll-- I'll call you sometime, okay? Promise. So just-- stop making such a big deal out of this; things change, nobody expects things to stay the safe forever."

"Calling me sometime isn't enough," Sam insisted, "That's not what I want. I don't want to hear from you twice a year. I want to know where you are, I want…" a look of realization washed over Sam's face, "I want your cell phone number." He finished. "Yeah, yeah, that's what I... here... just..." he moved to stand behind the desk, rifling through a few papers until he found a pen, "... give me your cell."

Dean stared at him, but didn't say anything. Studying his brother, who was poised to write down his phone number, had his gaze falling back down to the picture.

Sam looked up, "Dean..."

But Dean's gaze remained on the picture, after a moment he made a gesture towards it, "I'd forgotten about that day..." he said instead of a phone number.

Sam glanced over at it, pen still in hand, "Yeah, it came out good," he murmured, deciding to wait a beat before asking for the number again.

Dean nodded, staring at it a moment longer. _What the hell... _he thought suddenly, _why not?_ He lifted his gaze to Sam's, "It's not with the others." He stated. The words not quite a question, but a little more than a statement.

Sam frowned a little.

"In the living room," Dean clarified, already feeling ridiculous about bringing it up. It wasn't a big deal... it didn't matter... except it did...

The younger man's face cleared, he shrugged, straightening away from the desk, "I like it in here," he stated, "I'm in here a lot... when we... when Jess and I moved in, I sort of claimed this room... the bookshelves are built in the walls, so I just, you know, fell in love with it... this is _my _room in the house... and... I spend a lot of time here," he repeated, his face flushing a little as he continued, "... out there it would kind of... get lost in the clutter... it would be just one more picture... but its not... its, you know... _us... _so I keep it here... I guess, I just like it where I can see it..." he finished lamely.

The study was quiet again. Both of them studying that picture... remembering that moment…

"That was a good day," Dean offered into the silence, Sam's words leaving behind a warm feeling that he didn't really know how to identify.

"Yeah, yeah it was," Sam murmured.

Dean took a deep breath, "Listen..." he began before he could talk himself out of it, "In all the yelling and soccer playing and..." a small smirk tilted his lips even though his eyes remained dark, "... nail painting..."

Sam returned the small smirk.

"... I kept meaning to tell you that... you-- you did good here, Sammy... and I... even if you don't see me... or we don't talk... it doesn't mean that I'm not-- because I am... I really am."

Sam dropped the pen, his eyes wide, "You are?"

Dean nodded, "Yeah I am."

They were silent again. Each of them considering how best to broach their topics. There had to be middle ground somewhere-- if only one of them could find it.

"Dean--"

"Don't ask me to stay, Sam. I can't. I have a job. Dad's expecting me in Oregon in like five hours. I have... commitments..."

"Then come back... give me your cell... let me call you and... and complain about the paper I have to write or... or the party Jess is making me go to... or finals or the heat or... just anything..." Sam scowled suddenly, "Stop being a pain in the ass about this..."

"Sam--"

"I've apologized, but you don't want me to apologize and I've tried to explain, but you won't listen. I don't know what else to do..."

Dean sighed, rolling his eyes, "How about letting it go..."

"No. Not again. I'm not letting you go again." The words didn't come out exactly how Sam had intended. He'd meant to say that he wasn't going to drop the subject, that he wasn't giving up... what came out was closer to the truth.

Dean shifted a little and stared at Sam. His brother had on his defiant _and you can't make me _look. Their Dad had never understood the _you can't make me _look. He'd always believed that you could just plow right through the look. Of course, that was because their father had a slightly more mature version of the look and therefore couldn't recognize it. He didn't see that the more you ignored it or tested it-- the stronger it got. Dean had always known that once the look appeared, in either its baby-Sammy-version or the more mature John-Winchester-version, you'd better be ready to either give in or apply some creative fancy-foot work to the situation.

He was feeling too tired to be doing fancy-foot work. His eyes strayed to the picture on the desk again. They hadn't known it then... but the days they would truly _enjoy _together had been dwindling. Sam was offering the possibility of more days.

"Help me fix this," Sam repeated softly, sensing the shift in Dean's attitude. He smiled a little when Dean took his gaze of the picture and fastened it on him, "It's what big brothers do..." he added.

Dean stared at him. This could end badly-- very badly. In so many ways. If their Dad found out-- and made him choose... if Sam wanted him to change-- and made him choose... if he led something supernatural to his baby brother's world-- and Sam never forgave him...

But the unfortunate life-forms had turned out to be okay and Sam had the picture in _his _room in the house and they'd had a good day and Sam was getting married and this... this might be the last chance...

"You can't pull the baby brother card for everything, dude..." he murmured, arching an eyebrow in Sam's direction.

A slow, hesitant smile started on the younger man's face, "But... it... it always works... doesn't it...? Right?" he asked slowly.

Dean drew in a deep breath, "Yeah, Sammy... it always works..."

Sam's smile bloomed.

"But I still have to leave." Dean stated, shifting the bag on his shoulder.

"Your cell number?"

Dean rolled his eyes, "Dude, you're just like a chick..."

"The number, Dean..."

Slowly he listed the ten numbers that would connect them and watched as Sam scrawled them onto a piece of paper-- then tore off the piece of paper and stuck it in his pocket.

He looked up and nodded, "Okay, good... I'd give you mine, but I don't think I need to..." he stated, smirking a little.

"Yeah," Dean chuckled, "God bless the Internet," he proclaimed, then sighed a little, "I really do have to go, Sam..."

"Are you gonna tell Dad?"

The question rippled around the room. If Sam's leaving had been a sore spot, if the unanswered phone calls had been a scab, than John Winchester was a gaping wound...

There was no middle ground when it came to their father. They both knew that. You'd think they'd been raised by different men the way they felt about him; and in a way Dean supposed they had been.

Dean could see everything Sam saw in their father-- he knew it was all true, it was all there, it's just that he could see something that Sam couldn't... he could see his father swinging him up into his arms, could see his father playing catch with him, could see his father building a fort in his room and teaching him the "finger shave" in the mornings. Dean remembered glimpses of "Daddy" but Sam had never met the man.

Sam hardly believed he'd ever existed.

And their Dad wouldn't forgive Sam's... _insubordination_-- is the word he used, _betrayal _is the word he implied.

Dean shook his head, "Naw," he said, "Later on... but not tonight... he's gonna wanna tear me a new as it is..." Dean smirked.

Sam nodded, understanding-- he knew John Winchester didn't compromise, he didn't make sacrifices for others, he didn't _give_. There was no middle ground with their father.

Sam didn't want to be like their father.

The room was quiet for a moment and then Sam took a deep breath, "What's in Oregon?" He asked quietly.

He wanted to be like Dean.

Dean's eyebrows rose, "You really want to know?" He asked warily.

Sam nodded, "Yeah, I do," he stated.

Dean studied him a moment as if he knew what Sam was doing... as if he could hear his brother's thoughts and knew that Sam was trying desperately find middle ground.

A moment later he shifted the bag on his shoulder and decided to meet his little brother half-way; he brought up his wrist so he could see his watch. "It's getting pretty late--"

"--Dean," Sam interrupted.

Dean continued without pausing, "--late is late... so I'm thinking... what's another hour?"

Sam's mouth snapped shut, his eyes widening as he stared at his brother.

"We can hang here for awhile..." Dean continued, his hazel eyes glimmering, "I'm feeling cheated... after all that soul bearing-- we never did paint our nails..."

Sam opened his mouth, but no words came out-- Dean was going to stay longer! Dean was going to stay here! Just here... with him! Just them! He suddenly felt five again... he went to speak, but the smile spreading across his face was too big.

A smile that started in Dean's eyes worked its way down to his mouth, "Maybe have a beer too..." he added.

"If I get you plastered will you stay?" Sam asked abruptly, grinning.

Dean shrugged, "Many have tried, little brother, many have tried..." he murmured as they headed back into the living.

"So I take it," he continued a moment later as he dropped his bag on the sofa, "That's a yes, you want to hang out here for awhile…"

Sam grinned, reaching out and laying one hand on each of Dean's shoulders, "Yes, that's a yes!" He proclaimed shaking his brother a little.

Dean grinned, a moment later his smile faded abruptly and suddenly he looked nervous' he tried to take a step back, but Sam held him fast.

"Sammy don't..." he warned, not liking the glint in his little brother's eyes, "Let's get a beer and talk about football and hookers..." he continued.

Sam chuckled and let his arms drop around Dean's shoulders-- pulling his brother into a hug.

"AW SAM! LET GO!" Dean hissed, trying to shrug out of the hug, even as his arms took a life of their own and wrapped around Sam.

Sam laughed softly and waited a moment, then smiled as he said, "Come to my wedding."

Dean's arms dropped to his sides, "WHAT!" he growled, "Let go!"

"Come to my wedding."

"This is low, Sam!" Dean hissed.

"Come to my wedding."

"This is BLACKMAIL! COME **ON,** MAN!"

"Come to my wedding... you don't have to wear a tie or give a speech or stay for the reception if you don't want to... just stand with me..."

"I **WILL** dropkick you, Sammy!"

Sam tightened the hug, lowering his head to his brother's shoulder, "Please." He stated simply.

"AGH! SAAAAMMMM! **GET OFF!" **

"Please."

"Okay, FINE." Dean hissed through clenched teeth.

"Promise?"

"Promise. Now get the fuck off me or I swear to god I'll inflict pain on you, you BRAT."

Sam chuckled and released his hold, stepping back, "Oh come on... you know you wanted to hug me too..."

Dean took three steps back and gave a shudder, "They **do **put estrogen in the water here, don't they...?"

Sam laughed, "Come on... I'll get you a beer so you can feel all manly again..."

"You think a beer can fix this! You HUGGED me!"

Sam laughed, turning and heading for the kitchen door, "A beer's all I got, brother..." he called out as he pushed the door open.

Dean stared after him, the mock disgust melting off his face and leaving behind an affectionate smile instead, "A beer will do, Sammy, a beer will do..." he murmured softly and then he followed Sam into the kitchen.

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-- Fin

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